


It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like...

by likethenight



Series: All I Want Is You [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Christmas Movie, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Femslash, Background Relationships, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Idiots in Love, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, M/M, Mutual Pining, Objectively Hot Single Dads, Pining, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Secret Relationship, Single Parents, The Kids Know Best, Widowed Bard, they are totally still mourning their respective wives bless them, widowed Thranduil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28072815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethenight/pseuds/likethenight
Summary: Bard can't work out why he keeps having to deliver parcels to Greenwood Hall. Thranduil feels strangely drawn to the handsome delivery driver. It's nearly Christmas, and a few of Santa's little helpers decide to give the two of them a bit of a shove in each other's direction...In other words, it's the Bard/Thranduil Christmas movie AU that literally nobody asked for except me. :D
Relationships: Bain of Dale & Bard the Bowman & Sigrid & Tilda, Bard the Bowman & Bard's Children, Bard the Bowman/Thranduil, Bardlings & Legolas Greenleaf & Tauriel, Legolas Greenleaf & Tauriel & Thranduil, Sigrid/Tauriel (Hobbit Movies)
Series: All I Want Is You [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2111334
Comments: 142
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All right. So I am feeling very much in the need for ridiculous Christmas fluff, and having watched a couple of Netflix Christmas movies just recently, I found myself really rather wanting a Bard/Thranduil Christmas movie AU. I wasn't going to write it because I didn't have time...and then all of a sudden this happened regardless. 
> 
> I should probably make it clear that I have never seen an actual Hallmark Christmas movie, only the Netflix ones, but that was the tag that popped up. 
> 
> This is going to be T-rated, in keeping with the inspiration material, and any higher-rated stuff that gets written for this 'verse (because yes, it's turned into a bit of a monster in my head) will be going into another work. :D
> 
> Big thanks, as always, to my invaluable beta [lemurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious)! <3333333

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard keeps having to deliver parcels to Greenwood Hall, but he's never seen the elusive owner. Until today, three weeks before Christmas...

Bard checked his delivery schedule and groaned. Next on the list was Greenwood Hall again. It was difficult enough to fit in all his scheduled deliveries, without having to stop at places like Greenwood Hall and have to press the buzzer and wait to be let through the security gate. Some people with security systems put the security code on their delivery details, but not the owner of Greenwood Hall. Bad enough at any other time of the year, but worse, doubly so, as close to Christmas as this was, only three weeks away. He had even more deliveries than usual to make, and even less time to hang around waiting for security gates.

Bard supposed he couldn’t blame them, as he pulled up in front of the tall, wrought-iron gates and leaned out of the van window to press the buzzer. Greenwood Hall really was quite something. The gates swung open after a moment or two, presumably once whoever was inside had checked the CCTV, and Bard drove carefully up the drive. It curved through the trees and then out in front of a stunning colonnaded mansion, crossing a wide, beautifully-manicured lawn to a large turning circle in front of the house. Bard pulled up and hopped out, leaving the engine running while he went round to the sliding side door of the van and dug out the parcel. 

This was by no means the first time he had made a delivery here; he seemed to have at least one drop a week for “T Greenwood”. He always handed the parcels over to the person who answered the door, a tall, dignified gentleman, whose signature did not match the name on the parcel. On the other hand, Bard thought, it was probably safe to assume that the owner of this magnificent house most certainly did not answer the door in person. 

But he could never quite shake the feeling of being watched, as he walked from the van to the front door, and back to the van again. Once or twice, when he turned to look up at the windows, he thought he caught sight of a pale figure behind the glass, but he was never sure.

This time, when he rang the bell - it was an ancient pull-handle that Bard thought was probably original to the house - he heard it jangling deep in the recesses of the hallway, but nobody came to answer. He waited for a minute or two, thinking that it probably wasn’t the work of a few seconds to get from the other end of the house, if that was where the butler type happened to be, and then he rang the bell again. 

Still nothing, and Bard glanced at his watch, he was definitely running late now. He’d have to text Sigrid from the van, tell her not to wait for him before starting dinner. He hated that he had to put so much responsibility on his eldest daughter’s shoulders, but until he could manage to get himself a better job, there wasn’t much he could do about it. 

He was on the verge of leaving a card telling the mysterious “T Greenwood” they would have to pick up their parcel from the depot or arrange a new delivery date, not that he could find a letterbox to put it in, when the large wooden door eased open. Bard jumped, and looked up at the person in the doorway, and for a moment he felt as though his brain had shorted out.

The man was tall, with long, straight silver hair loose down his back, and he had quite possibly the most beautiful face Bard had ever seen on anyone. He was neither young nor old, though Bard could not quite pinpoint his age, and he had high cheekbones, pale blue eyes and strong, dark eyebrows, which were currently drawn together in the faintest hint of a disapproving frown at being disturbed. 

“Um,” said Bard, when he had regained the ability to speak, “Mr Greenwood? I’ve got a parcel for you.”

The man - the vision, said a voice at the back of Bard’s mind, sounding distinctly starry-eyed - quirked one eyebrow very slightly upwards. 

“Not quite,” he said, “but the parcel is for me. Thank you.” He reached out a hand (elegant, long-fingered, perfectly manicured), and Bard blinked and placed the parcel into it. 

“I’m going to need a signature,” he said, fishing his scanner out of his pocket and proffering it. The man leaned (sinuously) around the door and placed the parcel out of sight, and then took the scanner, tracing his index finger (languidly) across the screen and handing it back again. Bard opened his mouth to thank him but the door was already closing, and he shook his head, turning to head back down the steps towards his van. 

He turned back as he opened the van door, almost despite himself, and for a moment he thought he saw a pale figure at one of the tall windows beside the front door, a fall of long, ramrod-straight silver hair; but then he blinked and it was gone. He shook his head again and climbed back into the driver’s seat, slamming the door, putting his seatbelt back on and putting the van into gear. Time to get on, or he’d not be home before Tilda’s bedtime.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Thranduil stood back from the morning room window as the delivery driver turned to look back at the house, as he often did. It was not that he did not want to be seen, not quite, but he did not want to unsettle the man. He most especially did not want to give him any hint of his interest in him, or to let on that the reason he had been having to make so many deliveries to Greenwood Hall was that Thranduil had caught sight of him some months earlier and found himself making repeat orders from the same online retailer so that the same handsome courier would have to keep coming back. Thranduil had always stood by an upstairs window to watch, unwilling or unable to speak to the man himself, and left his butler Galion to answer the door, but today - today he had given Galion the day off, so that he himself would have to answer the door and speak to him.

It had not been a resounding success, Thranduil thought. He had found himself completely tongue-tied when faced with the object of his distant admiration at close quarters. The man was tall, broad-shouldered, with wavy dark hair drawn back into a messy ponytail; his eyes were grey and his face - well, thought Thranduil, close to he was even more handsome than Thranduil had thought. He was about forty, Thranduil thought, around his own age, but he looked tired. Thranduil had no idea about the life of a delivery driver, but he suspected it was not a particularly leisurely one.

When the man spoke - getting Thranduil’s name wrong, although that was not surprising given that it was what was on the package - he turned out to have a deep voice, soft, with a lilting Welsh accent. Thranduil had almost shivered, but he had managed to keep a hold of himself, just about; but then he had gone into business mode, almost automatically, and he had found himself closing the door in the man’s face once he had signed the tracking screen. 

He had leaned against the door for a moment, despairing at his own social ineptitude. It had been a long time since he had felt any interest in anyone, long enough that he had thought that part of him to be dead; but no, here it was, alive and well, and he had not the first idea what to do with it.

And then he had gone into the morning room, so that he could watch the man walking away from the door, so that he could get one final glimpse at his handsome face before he got back into his van and drove back down the drive and away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to try for Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays for this one (in other words, the days I'm not posting My Heart Is An Empty Vessel and Break You But You'll Mend). Let's see how it goes...and if I can get the whole story out before Christmas!
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard runs into the mysterious Mr Greenwood in town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here, have another chapter, because with the length this is getting to, if I'm only posting on Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays, I won't have it all posted before Christmas. :D Call it a little thank-you present for all your support this year. <33333
> 
> Bit of a warning for this one, in that it includes mentions of the deaths of Bard's and Thranduil's respective wives. Please look after yourselves, and proceed with caution.

Bard hurried up the high street, shopping bags in both hands. This was his one day off before Christmas and he still had lots of things to get; his strict budget was only half gone, thanks to the charity shops, and the children would have stockings and proper presents this year, even if none of it would be what they might have wished for. He dreamed of finding himself a proper job again, jacking in the delivery gig, but for now there was nothing out there for a museum curator with a specialism in medieval weaponry. Nothing even for anything he could diversify into, and so he was stuck with the van and the parcels and the punishing schedule, working all the hours he could whether he was well or sick or exhausted, because if he didn’t work, he didn’t get paid. Sigrid should have been devoting her time to studying for her exams, but she was busy hustling her brother and sister to and from school and their various clubs before and after lessons, while he worked twelve hours a day or more delivering other people’s dreams. It was hard not to be bitter, he thought as he passed the fancy deli, once he might just have been able to afford to buy a few treats from there, but now - and then someone swept out of the deli and ran straight into him and he entirely forgot what he had been thinking. 

It wasn’t until he had dropped his shopping bags and was scrambling to pick them up again that he realised that whoever had bumped into him was trying to help, and they had long silver hair and a deep voice full of apologies, and…

 _oh crap, was this the mysterious Mr Greenwood?_ He did not dare to hope, nor did he want to ask himself what he was hoping for.

Bard almost did not dare look, as he got himself back to his feet, with everything more or less piled back into the bags. But he braced himself, and looked up to see - yes, it was the mysterious Mr Greenwood, who was looking distinctly apologetic, and, Bard did not think it was his imagination, somewhat shaken.

“I am very sorry,” Mr Greenwood said. “Are you all right?”

“I think so,” said Bard automatically. “No harm done.”

“Still, I feel I should make it up to you. Would you allow me to buy you a coffee?”

Bard almost demurred, almost refused, very politely, so that he could go and get on with the rest of his shopping in the short time available to him before he was due to meet the children back at the van; but then again, the voice in the back of his mind said, he was so very tired, and a coffee, hopefully sitting down in a cafe, would be just wonderful. Especially, the voice supplied, with the utterly divine-looking Mr Greenwood.

“I could do with a coffee, actually,” he said, “if you don’t mind.”

“It is the least I can do,” said Mr Greenwood. “Children, can you entertain yourselves for half an hour while I make my amends to this gentleman?” 

Bard finally registered that he had two teenagers with him, one flaxen-blond and the other auburn-haired. 

“Of course we can, Papa,” said the blond one. “Fíli and Kíli are coming into town and we said we’d meet them for pancakes, so if it’s all right with you we’ll just go and do that.”

“Very well,” said Mr Greenwood, and Bard caught himself wondering when he’d last heard someone saying ‘very well’ in real life. “Go, and I will see you later.”

“See you later, Papa!” the two teenagers chorused, and Bard decided to let himself down gently before he got his hopes up, because two teenagers calling Mr Greenwood ‘Papa’ almost certainly meant there was a Mrs Greenwood and he just hadn’t seen her when he’d been delivering to the house.

Not, he reminded himself, that he had any hopes to get up. Or any reason to - and then he told himself firmly to shut up because Mr Greenwood was speaking again.

“As it happens,” he was saying, gesturing at the posh deli, “this place has a particularly excellent cafe, if that suits you?”

Bard nodded. He’d never be able to afford a coffee here - well, he couldn’t afford one from any of the cafes in town, but certainly not from this one - but since Mr Greenwood had offered to pay, and he could already smell the freshly ground beans on the air - oh, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper coffee.

“Here would be lovely,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Not at all,” said Mr Greenwood, pushing the door open and holding it for Bard while he hustled himself and all his bags inside. 

Bard felt horribly self-conscious, with his reusable shopping bags from the discount supermarkets stuffed with charity shop purchases, his scuffed boots and patched jeans and slowly-disintegrating sheepskin coat; glancing around at the deli’s well-dressed and well-heeled customers, not to mention Mr Greenwood, who was, he finally registered, wearing a beautiful, long, dark grey cashmere coat, a dark green scarf in some soft, silken-looking yarn, narrow grey trousers, shiny black leather shoes. He looked like a fashion model, and Bard felt very out of place next to him. 

“I will have an espresso macchiato,” Mr Greenwood was saying, “and my friend - what would you like?”

Bard blinked at the menu board and its dizzying array of different fancy coffees. “Um,” he said. “Just a cappuccino, please.” At least he knew what that one was; most of the others he’d never heard of.

“Then an espresso macchiato and a cappuccino,” said Mr Greenwood, tapping a sleek black credit card on the card reader. “Now, let us find a table while we wait.” He led the way to the back of the room, and Bard trailed behind him, watching as he selected a table in the far corner and pulled out a chair for Bard, whose hands were full of shopping bags. 

Bard stashed his bags under the table and sat down gratefully, unable quite to keep himself from letting out a sigh of relief.

“You have had a long day, I think,” said Mr Greenwood as he folded himself elegantly into the other chair, on the opposite side of the little table. 

Bard sighed again. “Long day, long week, long year. Take your pick.” He shook his head. “Sorry. You don’t need to listen to me moaning about how crap my life is just now.”

Mr Greenwood smiled, very slightly. “On the contrary, perhaps it would do you good to talk about it. I am guessing that ‘delivery driver’ was not your career of choice.”

Bard’s eyebrows went up a little - he recognised him? - and then he shook his head again. “You could say that. Only job I could get when I needed one.”

“And what would you be doing, if you had your choice?”

Bard pulled a face. “I did it, for a long time. I’m a museum curator. But - well, you probably know what it’s like in the heritage sector at the moment. Nobody thinks museums are important, so they’re the first in line when it comes to funding cuts. And that means a load of redundant curators.”

“I am sorry,” said Mr Greenwood. “It must be very hard, to have had a job you loved, and not to be able to do it.” 

Bard nodded. “I did love my job. You have to, to work in museums, the pay’s not great and the politics are depressing, so you do really have to want to do it. But it was what I always wanted to do, since I was a kid. And then - out on my ear after twenty years.” He shrugged. “I’ve got three kids to feed, so sitting around wasn’t an option.”

“And your wife -?” asked Mr Greenwood, an odd look in his eyes, Bard thought, although he could just be imagining it. 

He shook his head. “She died five years ago. Brain aneurysm. She just dropped dead in front of me.” He had to stop speaking then, and swallow down the lump in his throat; he had never recovered from that, from watching his beloved Katy die before his eyes and being completely unable to do anything about it.

“I am sorry,” said Mr Greenwood softly. “I too am a widower. My Anna had cancer, and nothing I could do could save her, though she fought it valiantly.”

“You know how it feels, then,” said Bard, raising his eyes from the tabletop and having to try very hard not to catch his breath at the stricken expression on Mr Greenwood’s lovely face, half-hidden and half plain to see, for those who knew to look.

“Perhaps I do. It was perhaps the first time I truly understood that there are some things that cannot be overcome no matter how much money one has.” A bitter, self-deprecating smile flitted across his lips. “I have a great deal of that, as you may have gathered, but it did me no good at all.”

“It’d make life easier,” said Bard before he could quite help himself. “Sorry. None of my business. I just - Katy’s life insurance paid off the mortgage, but that was only one of the bills, and with three kids to put through school and keep warm and fed…” He trailed off. It was hard not to despair, especially sitting across the table from someone who had probably more money than he himself could ever imagine, and who could not ever conceive of his own struggles.

“I am sorry,” said Mr Greenwood. “I did not mean to insult you.”

“I’m not insulted,” said Bard. “Just - I don’t know. Struggling.” It almost felt good to admit it.

The waitress appeared with their drinks at that point, and Bard busied himself with his, tipping sugar into the foam on top and stirring carefully, trying to regain his equilibrium.

“Shall we start again?” said Mr Greenwood after a minute or two. “Perhaps by introducing ourselves, for I still do not know your name, and you do not know mine.”

Bard nodded, grateful for this second chance. “Sounds good to me. Bard Bowman, at your service. Thank you for the coffee.” He stuck out his hand across the table, and Mr Greenwood shook it; the contact was all too brief, Bard caught himself thinking, but his hand was soft but strong, his fingers long and elegant, and the contact made his heart thump suddenly louder in his chest…

“Thranduil Oropherion,” said Mr Greenwood, and Bard blinked, that was not what he had been expecting. “The ‘Greenwood’ is more in the way of a title than my name, but it’s easier to spell.”

“Oh,” said Bard, not quite sure what he meant by ‘a title’ but he could understand the need for something easy to spell and to pronounce. 

“Call me Thranduil, if you will, and I hope I may call you Bard. Will you tell me about your children?”

Bard nodded, a smile spreading across his face at the thought of his kids; sometimes he thought they were the only light left to him. “Sigrid’s the eldest, she’s sixteen, studying for her exams and most definitely going to change the world when she gets out there. Bain’s fourteen, obsessed with football and computers. Tilda’s ten, and determined to be a writer when she grows up. They’re a handful, sometimes, but they’re a delight all the same. I wouldn’t be without them.”

Mr Greenwood - Thranduil - echoed his smile. “They do sound delightful. You met my two, more or less, outside. Legolas is eighteen, so he is in his last year of school now. Athletics and history are his passions. Tauriel is seventeen, and she is a born horsewoman.”

“She’d get on with Sigrid,” said Bard. “Sig loves horses. She works at the riding school out on the west road, at the weekends.” It was one of the things he tried to keep going, Sigrid’s Saturday and Sunday mornings at the stables. Sometimes he had to work at the weekend, but Bain was old enough and more or less responsible enough to look after Tilda while their sister worked in exchange for riding lessons. 

“They may know each other, then,” said Thranduil. “Tauriel goes there when she is home from school, with the friends they are meeting today.”

“Your kids are at boarding school, then?” Bard asked. “It must be very quiet for you, in term-time.”

Thranduil nodded. “The house is very empty without them. There is only me, and Galion whom you have met on many occasions.”

Bard laughed softly, shaking his head. “Much as I might sometimes wish for a quiet life, I can’t imagine being without my lot. I’d be lonely after the first five minutes.”

“It is very lonely,” said Thranduil quietly. “I do not have friends. My - position rather precludes it, and I deliberately isolated myself after Anna died, because I could not bear to see anyone except the children. And now I fear I have lost the ability even to make friends.”

“You’re not doing so badly,” Bard heard himself saying. “I mean - sorry, I don’t mean to presume.”

Thranduil smiled. “I would be quite honoured,” he said, and then he glanced at his watch. “But I am afraid I must go and retrieve the children from their friends, and I am sure you have more to do before your long day is finished.” He drew his wallet from an inside pocket and flipped it open, pulling out a card and a pen, writing something on the card and then sliding it across the table. “Here. My card. Perhaps you might call me, if you have time for another coffee.”

Bard took it and tucked it into his pocket without really looking at it. “I’ll do that. I don’t really have any friends either, not any more. Most of my friends were from work, or they were Katy’s friends. So now it’s just me and the kids.” He pulled a face. “I don’t have much free time, but I’d like to have that coffee sometime.”

“Then we shall do so,” said Thranduil. “And I hope we might perhaps become friends.” He was smiling warmly as he finished his coffee, and Bard smiled back, scooping the last of his cappuccino froth out of the cup. 

“I’d like that,” he said, and he meant it. Friendship was - well, it sounded nice, and it was a much more sensible idea than the crazy thoughts he had been having about Thranduil’s long fingers and his beautiful hair and his perfect mouth and - enough. He did not know where all this was coming from; it had been a long time since he had felt interested in anyone, and longer still since his eye had been caught by a man. But Thranduil was certainly eye-catching, and - Bard firmly made himself stop thinking. 

Outside the deli they said their goodbyes, and Thranduil made his way up the street towards the pancake house where presumably his children were meeting their friends, while Bard set off towards the pound shop, in hopes of finding some further treats for the children’s stockings. He turned back once, just to catch one last glimpse of Thranduil’s retreating back, his glorious silver hair, and he almost thought that Thranduil looked as though he had just turned away, as though he had been watching Bard; but that surely could not be the case. He had to get a grip. 

An hour or so later he made his way back to where he’d parked the van, spotting the kids from a distance; Sigrid had the spare key and she had let them into the front seat, though Bain and Tilda were more bouncing around than sitting down. He stowed his bags in the back, securing them in one of the parcel nets, and then climbed into the driver’s seat. 

“Did you get everything done, Da?” Sigrid wanted to know, and he gave her a smile that was rather more tired than he’d have liked it to be.

“I think so, sweetheart. Should have everything now.”

“Good,” she said. “So have we. We ran into some people from the riding school, too, and they were getting pancakes so they took us with them.”

“They were really nice!” said Tilda. “We thought we wouldn’t be able to go because we didn’t have enough money for a pancake, but Sigrid’s friends paid for us to have whatever we wanted!”

Bard raised his eyebrows. “That was very kind of them,” he said. “I hope you said thank you.” 

“Of course we did, Da!” said Tilda indignantly. “They said not to mention it, but we did anyway.”

“It was nice to see them,” said Sigrid. “I hadn’t seen Tauriel since September, she’s been away at school, and she had her brother with her. I hadn’t met him before.”

“He’s really cool,” said Bain. “He does archery at school, the lucky thing. I wish I could do archery.” 

“I think that’s a bit beyond what your school is willing to risk in the name of Health and Safety,” Bard said, starting the van. “Actually, I think I met their Da this afternoon.”

“Oh, that was you?” said Sigrid. “Legolas said their Da had bumped into someone outside the deli and knocked all his shopping over, so he sent them off to get pancakes with Fíli and Kíli - and us as it turned out - while he bought them a coffee to make up for it.”

Bard willed the blush to stop rising up his face. “That was me. Actually it turned out he’s been a bit of a regular on my delivery route just recently. Nice house out of town.”

Sigrid rolled her eyes at him. “You can’t judge someone on their house, Da,” she said, and Bard rolled his eyes right back as he pulled out of the parking space and made for the car park exit. 

“I wasn’t. But as it turns out, he actually seems to be nice. He gave me his card and said we should have coffee again sometime.”

“Really?” Sigrid said. “Da, have you made a friend at last?”

“Give over, sweetheart,” said Bard. “I’ve been too busy for friends. Still am. But - I don’t know. I liked talking to him. I’ll have to see if I’ve got any free time any time soon.”

“I think you should,” said Sigrid, and Bard had the vague impression there was something she wasn’t telling him about her friends’ Da, but he wasn’t sure, and he supposed it’d all come out eventually anyway.

When they got home everything turned into a blur of dinner and homework and bedtimes, and it wasn’t until much later that Bard had the chance to fish Thranduil’s card out of his coat pocket and take a look at it. Thranduil had crossed out the phone number on the card and written another above it, a mobile number, but it wasn’t the number that made him stare at it, shake his head slowly, and put it down on the coffee table. It wasn’t the number, it was the name, and Bard suddenly understood Thranduil’s comment about ‘a title’ now, because what it said in bold letters across the middle of the card was _Thranduil Oropherion, Lord Greenwood_ , and that cast everything in a completely different light. 

Thranduil’s obvious wealth was one thing, and Bard couldn’t quite put it aside when he thought of how different their circumstances were, but that he was genuinely a member of the titled aristocracy - that was quite another. Suddenly Bard thought he must be insane to even think about trying to be friends with this man. They were worlds apart; how could they ever have anything in common, other than the deaths of their wives?

Sigrid passed through the living room on the way to get a glass of water before bed, and she paused in the doorway, looking at him.

“Are you all right, Da?” she asked, and Bard glanced blankly up at her, shaking his head. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart.” He pointed at the card, and Sigrid came to cast her eye over it. 

“I thought you’d be like this about it,” she said. “I thought about telling you earlier, in the van, but - I don’t know, I knew you’d react like this. You do know, don’t you, that just because he’s Lord Greenwood and he owns half the county, it doesn’t mean he’s not still just an ordinary person who wants a friend?”

“Oh, Christ,” said Bard, “he owns half the county? I knew he was rich, I’ve delivered enough parcels to his house, but - what is he ever going to have to talk about with me?”

“You did all right today, I think,” said Sigrid. “Try not to think about it. He obviously wants to be your friend, so maybe you should just give him a chance?”

“If you say so, sweetheart,” said Bard, but he really wasn’t sure he could bring himself to call Thranduil, not now. Because if they became friends, it would only become more obvious just how parlous Bard’s circumstances were, and he couldn’t quite bear the idea of that.

No, it was better to tuck the card away somewhere safe and forget about it. Forget about the thought of having a friend, forget about Thranduil and his gorgeous face and…all of it.

He was going to have to see if he could change his delivery route, too. He couldn’t quite bear the thought of still having to make deliveries to Greenwood Hall, of possibly running into Thranduil. There ought to be someone who would be willing to swap with him. He’d have to see about it at the depot on Monday morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard can't bring himself to call Thranduil, so the kids take matters into their own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, stuff posting on Mondays, Thursdays and Saturdays, this story has taken over my brain so here, have it daily until I either finish it or can't get a chapter out in advance. :D

Thranduil listened to the children’s chatter with half an ear in the car on the way home; most of his mind was on his very fortuitous encounter with the handsome delivery driver - Bard, he reminded himself. He had been on his way out of the deli when he had spotted him, and if he had very slightly engineered their collision, he was not admitting it to himself, let alone to anyone else. It had been worth it, anyway, to spend half an hour or so with Bard, so soft-spoken, so worn-at-the-edges but still somehow so warm. He had not allowed his run of ill fortune to make him hard or cynical, it was immediately obvious, nor had he withdrawn from the world as Thranduil had found himself doing. He had endeavoured to be present for Legolas and Tauriel, but he had let everyone else fall by the wayside, and now his life was an empty, lonely expanse of time punctuated only by the brightness of the school holidays when his children were home. He had considered taking them out of boarding school and finding a day school close to home, but he had not wanted to disrupt their education, and in any case, he reasoned, they would be leaving home soon enough anyway. He might as well accustom himself to it now.

“Papa?” said Tauriel, breaking into his thoughts, and he glanced at her in the rear view mirror. 

“What can I do for you?” he asked her, and she smiled brightly at him.

“We were only wondering if you had a nice coffee with the man you bumped into,” she said guilelessly, and Thranduil raised his eyebrows a little, he knew that tone of voice.

“Very nice,” he said smoothly. “We had enough in common to make conversation with each other. I might meet him again sometime. Goodness only knows I need some sensible conversation occasionally, with you two around.” He smiled at her in the mirror, and she rolled her eyes and giggled.

“Do you know, he’s my friend Sigrid’s dad? From the riding stables? We ran into her and her brother and sister, so they came for pancakes with us and Fíli and Kíli. They’re very nice.”

“Sigrid’s brother wants to learn archery,” said Legolas from the front seat. “I said I could maybe teach him a bit, if you don’t mind. They don’t do it at his school.”

Thranduil did not suppose they did. Although he did not have personal experience of the state school system, he read enough newspapers to understand their circumstances. “Perhaps after Christmas,” he said. “You’re sensible enough to do it safely by now, I hope.”

“Papa, that was one time,” Legolas protested. “And nobody actually got hurt.”

“Only by a fluke,” Tauriel put in. “Anyway, it might be nice for you to get to know their dad a bit, Papa. It can’t be healthy for you knocking around at home with only Galion for company all the time.”

“I have no idea what you’re implying, dreadful child,” said Thranduil, “but yes, it would be nice. Now, have you done all of your Christmas shopping, or will you need to go out again?”

And that was where they left it. Tauriel and Legolas both continued to drop Bard and his family casually into conversation here and there over the days that followed, but Thranduil put it down to the novelty of him having a possible friend, and their own interest in the children, and paid it no more mind. Besides, he was too busy trying not to check his phone every five minutes. 

He had amended his usual business card to give Bard his personal mobile number rather than the one his business acquaintances had - his stockbroker, his solicitor, his banker, and so on and so forth. Very few people had that number, other than Legolas, Tauriel and Galion, and so it did not ring often, especially when the children were at home and therefore did not need to call him.

But the phone did not ring, no text messages arrived, and when Thranduil’s last order from the online retailer that used Bard’s delivery firm arrived, it was not Bard who brought it but another man, a stocky, somewhat surly Scotsman with a shaved head and a great many tattoos. Thranduil left Galion to answer the door, and retreated to his study, confused and hurt. Why would someone else take over Bard’s delivery route? Was he ill? Or, more likely, had he decided he did not want to see Thranduil again, and in that case, why?

Thranduil wished he had thought to take Bard’s number too, so that he could make sure he was all right - but then again, perhaps that would not have been welcome, so perhaps it was a good thing that he had not. Perhaps he should not have got his hopes up. 

He was not even sure what he had been hoping for. Friendship, yes, but also something more? He had always known that he found both women and men attractive, though he had only ever had actual experience with women; but what was to say Bard would be interested in him, anyway? He had been married, he clearly still adored his late wife, he had three children - oh, god, had Thranduil frightened him away by appearing interested in him in that way?

He had been so sure that they had things in common. Their circumstances were very different at first glance, certainly, but there was more to both of them than that. They had had an enjoyable conversation, hadn’t they?

He tried to tell himself that Bard was probably too busy to contact him; it was the pre-Christmas rush after all, less than two weeks to go, and maybe it was just that he had too much to do; maybe his route had been reorganised because of that, too. Maybe he would be in touch after the new year.

Thranduil clung to the thought, but deep down he knew it was unlikely. The most likely explanation was that Bard had decided he did not want to see him again after all. He would just have to get used to it.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
_WhatsApp group chat ‘Operation Oblivious Dads’_

**TaurielG:** Sigrid, Bain, what’s up? did your dad decide not to call our dad after all?

 **Sigrid:** *facepalm* you know I said he’d freak when he found out who your dad is? That. 🙄🙄🙄🙄

 **TaurielG:** oh he didn’t? papa is just as much an ordinary person as he is. i mean, yeah, our situation is different but it doesn’t mean papa doesn’t like him.

 **Sigrid:** I KNOW RIGHT. Da is moping. He’s trying to pretend he isn’t but he totally is.

 **thebainofyourlife:** he’s totally moping. til says he’s even sadder than usual. i think he really likes your da.

 **legs11:** we should do something about it. papa’s moping too. he’s miserable. your dad didn’t even bring the most recent parcel. you should’ve seen him. 

**Sigrid:** oh god he’s swapped his route I bet you. IDIOT. ugh. we should totally do something about it. 

**thebainofyourlife:** yeah but what? you know how stubborn da is.

 **TaurielG:** I don’t know. we need to get the two of them together somehow, but how?

 **Sigrid:** you know who we need for this? Plots and Schemes R Us. 

**Sigrid:** in other words, Fíli and Kíli.

 **TaurielG:** oh yes, good idea! hang on I’ll add them

_TaurielG has added Fíli Dude-rinson and Kíli McKíliface to the conversation_

**TaurielG:** Fíli and Kíli let me fill you in. Our dads are being ridiculous about each other and we need a plan to get them to at least talk to each other. 

**Fíli Dude-rinson:** what sort of ridiculous?

 **Sigrid:** they like each other and they won’t do anything about it. particularly our da is freaking out because Tauriel and Legolas’ da is like super rich and we’re like super poor right now. 🙄🙄🙄🙄

 **Kíli McKíliface:** what sort of like each other? like do they like each other or do they LIKE like each other?

 **TaurielG:** …I’m not entirely sure.

 **legs11:** papa totally like-likes him. which is fair enough cos he’s objectively hot. sorry sigrid and bain, but he is.

 **Sigrid:** I’m not sure what to say to that.

 **thebainofyourlife:** oh ugh i am scarred for life right now

 **thebainofyourlife:** i mean i dont mind your da and my da like liking each other i just don’t want to have to think about legs thinking my da is hot

 **Sigrid:** ditto. but honestly, I think Da totally like-likes your da too, he’s just busy tying himself in knots about it all and being useless.

 **legs11:** i didn’t say i think he’s hot i just said he’s objectively hot. which he is. 

**TaurielG:** so what do we dooooo?

 **Fíli Dude-rinson:** well we need to get them in the same place at the same time obviously

 **Kíli McKíliface:** so they have to talk to each other

 **Kíli McKíliface:** but HOW.

 **Sigrid:** Da’s always so busy. I don’t think he’s got another day off until Christmas. Like even this weekend he’s doing Saturday and Sunday, he said I’d have to take my bike to the riding school both days, he won’t be able to drop me off or pick me up. 

**TaurielG:** but you’ll be there? there’s a party on Saturday. 

**Sigrid:** I’ll be there. you and me can sit on the sidelines and judge all the pony club girls 😂

 **TaurielG:** can’t wait! but that won’t get papa and your dad talking. what can we do?

 **Fíli Dude-rinson:** i’ve got an idea. i think. but we’d have to work it through. you know, make sure it’d actually work. sig, how are you with faking pain?

 **Sigrid:** …uhm, I can do it I suppose? Never tried. 

**Fíli Dude-rinson:** awesome. you’ll only need to do it a bit, i think. now, listen closely, i shall say this only once…  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Bard’s phone buzzed, and he sighed despite himself. He’d pulled into a lay-by for a minute or two so that he could have a drink of the rapidly cooling coffee in his thermos flask, and he’d hoped for a bit of peace and quiet. He fished his phone out of his pocket, and his heart leapt into his mouth as he read the message on the screen. 

_Da, don’t worry or panic or anything but I’ve had a bit of an accident, I’m totally fine only I’ve hurt my wrist a bit so I can’t ride my bike home, so Tauriel said I could go home with her and you can come and get me at the end of your shift. I’ve told Bain, he and Tilda are having a Disney marathon and he knows how to heat dinner up so they’ll be fine. DON’T WORRY and I’ll see you later! love Sigrid xxx_

Bard unlocked his phone one-handed, heading for the speed-dial that would call Sigrid. She picked up on the second ring and before he could say anything she began talking.

“Da, I’m okay, honestly. I’m fine. I just wrenched my wrist a bit mucking out, and it hurt when I tried to ride my bike, so Tauriel said I could go home with her, and her Da’s picking us up in a minute.”

Bard blinked, trying to keep up. “Are you sure it’s all right with Tauriel’s Da?” he asked, painfully aware that looking after one of his daughter’s scruffier friends was probably not something Lord Greenwood would be particularly keen on doing.

“Positive, Da, she called him and asked him and he said I could stay as long as I need to. So it doesn’t matter what time you finish, so don’t rush or anything. Whenever you’re ready. Everything’s fine, Da, I promise.”

“If you say so, sweetheart,” said Bard, feeling that everything was most certainly not fine. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way, all right?”

“Perfect. See you later, Da, and honestly, don’t worry!”

“Easier said than done, sweetheart,” said Bard, and he rang off and immediately called Bain, just to reassure himself that he and Tilda were all right.

“We’re fine, Da, we’re watching Disney movies,” said Bain in the tone of voice that he used when he was feeling particularly virtuous for putting up with something for his little sister’s benefit. “I’m going to microwave the lasagne out of the freezer, we’ll be all right. See you when you’re done.”

And that was that. Bard shook his head as he restarted the van and headed off to his next delivery. There was something about both Bain and Sigrid that he couldn’t quite put his finger on; they were very slightly calmer than they ought to have been in a situation like this, and he couldn’t work out why it made him feel so unsettled.

On the other hand, the unsettledness probably just came from the thought of having to see Thranduil again. He wasn’t quite sure he could look him in the eye after he’d ghosted him so thoroughly. It had only been a week, but he really should have called before now - if he had been able to bring himself to do so.

Oh god, what on earth was he going to _say_ to him? He could claim he’d been busy, which would be the truth, but then that would imply he’d intended to call, which would not. He couldn’t. They had nothing in common, and he just could not open himself up again, not when there was absolutely no chance of anything happening between them except that he would end up getting hurt. He couldn’t do it.

He continued his shift, delivering parcel after parcel, trying to distract himself from his nervousness, away off into the evening, long after dark. But eventually the last parcel was delivered, the van was empty, and he had to go and pick up Sigrid from Greenwood Hall. He could do this. He could absolutely be calm and distant and - and professional about this. He could collect his daughter from her friend’s house and make thirty seconds of polite conversation with her father. 

He could forget how he felt about that friend’s father. He could forget how much he wanted to see him again. He could absolutely pretend he didn’t care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea whether today's teenagers use WhatsApp (this story is set in 2019, for reasons that will hopefully become obvious in the sequel, if I manage to write it) or whether it's just old persons like me, but it seemed appropriate for a group chat. Do feel free to suggest more appropriate apps! Meanwhile, I make no apologies whatsoever for the boys' ridiculous screen-names, they were all their own work. :D (Tilda is not in the group chat only because she's too young to have a smartphone. :D )
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard turns up at Greenwood Hall to collect Sigrid, and he and Thranduil clear the air a little.

Thranduil had been surprised to receive Tauriel’s call, a few minutes before he was going to get ready to go and pick her up from the riding school. Her friend had injured her wrist and could not ride her bicycle home, and Tauriel had offered to bring the friend home with her to wait until her father finished work and could pick her up. 

Of course Thranduil had agreed; he was glad that Tauriel had friends at home as well as at school, and even more so that she felt she could invite them home. That had not happened for a long time, perhaps not since before Anna had died.

The girl waiting with Tauriel in the stable yard looked vaguely familiar, but Thranduil assumed he must have seen her before when picking Tauriel up or dropping her off. 

“Thank you so much,” the girl said as she climbed into the back seat, “I promise I won’t be any trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” said Thranduil. “I hope you are not too badly injured.”

He caught the girl’s eye in the rear view mirror, and he could have sworn she looked a little sheepish.

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” she said. “I just can’t quite ride my bike, that’s all. I’ll be all right by the time Da comes to pick me up.”

“Well, if you need anything, you must ask,” said Thranduil, and the girl nodded.

“I will, thank you,” she said, and after that she and Tauriel fell to talking about what they had been doing at the riding school that day, and Thranduil drove them back to Greenwood Hall only half-listening to the pleasant background noise of their soft conversation.

When they arrived, Tauriel and her friend disappeared up to Tauriel’s room; Legolas was nowhere to be seen and Thranduil assumed he was probably either playing computer games or studying in his room. 

Thranduil took himself off to his study to finish reading the newspapers and glancing over the regular reports from his financial adviser and his estate manager. Tauriel put her head round the door some time after dark to ask if he wanted any dinner, and he shook his head.

“I will have something later,” he told her, and she rolled her eyes at him but left him be. 

It was almost nine when the doorbell rang, and after a moment, when he heard no footsteps on the stairs, he realised that he was going to have to answer it himself. Galion had gone home to his cottage long since, Legolas was presumably oblivious to all except his music or his game, and Tauriel and her friend - he only now realised that he had not thought to ask her name - were presumably too wrapped up in gossiping or whatever it was teenage girls did. He got up and stretched, and made for the front door just as the bell rang again. Reaching it, he undid the bolts and pulled the door open, and came face to face with - the one person he had been hoping to see for the past week but had more or less given up on. 

“Hi,” said Bard, smiling tightly. “I’ve come to pick Sigrid up.”

Thranduil blinked, putting two and two together. “Oh. Please come in,” he said, stepping back and pulling the door wide open. He hoped that his pleased surprise did not show on his face.

“Thank you,” said Bard, stepping inside and staring at his feet. “I won’t keep you. Thank you for looking after her.”

“It was my pleasure,” said Thranduil,“although I have barely seen her. She and Tauriel have been up in Tauriel’s room gossiping, I assume. I will go and fetch them.”

“No, don’t worry,” said Bard, pulling his phone out. “I’ll just text Sigrid, and then we’ll be out of your hair.” He tapped at his phone, waited a few moments, and then rolled his eyes. “She says she’ll be a few minutes, they’re just finishing up watching a film. I’m so sorry. I can tell her to come down now.”

“No, no,” said Thranduil. “It is not often that Tauriel has friends over, and we should not interrupt their film. I am sure they both already think that we are no fun at all.”

Bard snorted with laughter, though he immediately sobered again. “It isn’t often Sigrid gets to see her friends outside school either. She’s usually too busy looking after her brother and sister.”

“Are they all right?” Thranduil asked; it had not occurred to him to enquire of Tauriel’s friend whether there was anyone at home waiting for her.

“They’re fine,” said Bard. “Bain’s been putting himself through a Disney marathon with Tilda and he texted me just before I got here to say she’d just gone to bed. We’ll probably get back to find him watching some awful horror movie or something.”

“That does seem to be what teenage boys like,” said Thranduil. “Would you like something to drink, while we wait?”

“That would be nice,” said Bard. “Although I have to drive so it probably shouldn’t be alcoholic.”

Thranduil could not help a smile as he ushered Bard through to the living room. “As it happens, one of the things I ordered from the retailer which uses your delivery service was a low-alcohol wine. I was curious as to how it would taste, but I confess I have not yet had the opportunity to try it.”

Bard laughed softly, and it seemed as though he was relaxing a little. “I’m game if you are,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I had a proper glass of wine.” 

“Do have a seat,” Thranduil said, gesturing at the sofa; he had not missed the way Bard was looking around, up at the paintings on the wall, the chandelier in the ceiling, the wide, high fireplace and the antique furniture, the tall Christmas tree by the window, hung with a mixture of decorations old and new. He looked thoroughly intimidated, and for the first time Thranduil began to have an idea of why Bard might not have felt able to call him. He found the low-alcohol wine in the drinks cabinet - he had put it there, intending to try it, and had not quite got round to it yet - and poured two glasses half-full.

Turning back, he saw that Bard was now looking at the floor between his feet again, and he realised that he could not let this go on any longer. Apart from anything else, if he hoped to cultivate a friendship with this man, it was not fair to leave him feeling so out of place.

“Here,” he said, passing Bard one of the glasses of wine and sitting down on the other end of the sofa, “let’s try this, shall we?” He clinked his glass against Bard’s and took a sip, resisting the temptation to screw his face up against the taste. It was certainly not the best he had ever tried.

Bard sipped at the wine, frowned, took another sip and glanced at Thranduil. “I don’t want to be rude, but I hope you didn’t pay too much for this,” he said after a moment. 

Thranduil laughed. “Not as much as I might have done, which is something of a relief. I think perhaps the world is not yet ready for low-alcohol wine. Or low-alcohol wine is not quite ready for the world.”

“I mean, I’ll take it,” said Bard, “because let’s face it, it’s still better than anything I could afford.” His face twisted briefly, bitterly, and Thranduil shook his head. 

“I think I understand why you did not want to call me,” he said softly. “It is not because you did not enjoy talking to me, or want to meet me again. I think you think we are too different to be friends.”

“Aren’t we, though?” Bard demanded, his voice soft but urgent, humiliation burning through his words. “I’m practically on the breadline, I have to work all the hours I can get to keep my kids fed, so I barely see them. And here’s you, in this beautiful house, with your title, and all this -“ he gestured around, “and I can’t help asking myself what you could possibly want with me.”

“No,” said Thranduil, leaning forward, “no, you are only looking at the surface. But beneath all of that, which is perhaps not irrelevant, but it is certainly not as all-consuming as you think it is, or at least, I hope it is not - beneath all of that I am only a man who lost his wife, who rarely sees his children, and who cannot remember the last time he had a friend to talk to. The difference is that you have too much to do, too many worries, to fill your days, and I have far too little. You, through no fault of your own, have not enough money to take care of all your responsibilities, and I, through no fault of my own, it is an accident of birth - I have far too much. Please, do not judge me for it. I would very much like to know you better.”

“I’m sorry,” said Bard, turning to look at Thranduil with an anguished look in his eyes. “I didn’t think of it like that. Only I’m just a delivery driver. I don’t know what we’d talk about.”

“You are not ‘just a delivery driver’ at all,” said Thranduil. “You are a museum curator of great knowledge and experience. I am sure you could tell me a great deal about the history of any number of the things in this room.”

Bard shook his head, but Thranduil could see him casting his eyes about, assessing the contents of the room. “Not really,” he said. “Furniture’s not really my thing. The only thing I could tell you anything much about is the pair of broadswords over the fireplace.”

Thranduil raised his eyebrows a little, smiling. “Well, I know nothing about them, except that they must have belonged to one or other of my ancestors. I do not even know if they are genuine.”

Bard looked at the swords a moment longer, and then got up to take a closer look. “Oh, they’re real all right. You can tell, they’re not perfect, there are little nicks and dings in the blades, they’ve been used, and the damage is genuine. That’s just for starters.”

Thranduil laughed softly. “So your specialism is weaponry? Then you could tell me about the axes over the door to the morning room, the row of pikes in the hall, the longbow in the library, and the cellar full of weapons. My family seem to have thrown nothing away in five hundred years at least.” He got up and crossed the room to stand by Bard, taking another sip of his wine. This was better - Bard seemed animated, enthusiastic, brighter than Thranduil had seen him at any point.

“I probably could,” he said, though then the veil of depression settled back over him again. “Not that it did me any good, in the long run. Nobody needs medieval weapons specialists any more.”

“I am not sure that is true,” said Thranduil. “Did they not use one to tie up the wounds on the skeleton of that king they found under a car park with the accounts of the battle in which he died?”

“They did,” said Bard, “but that wasn’t me. And it’s a pretty niche field.”

“But not one that will remain closed for ever,” said Thranduil. “I know it is cold comfort now, but eventually opportunities may open up for you again.”

“Or I just have to come to terms with my career being over,” said Bard, taking a gulp of his wine and grimacing at the taste. “I’d retrain, but I haven’t the time or the money.”

“Something will come up,” said Thranduil. “And in the meantime, if you are interested in cataloguing the ridiculous amount of weaponry my family has collected over the centuries, I am more than happy to hire you to do so.” He smiled, he was joking, but only partially. He held his breath, hoping he had not insulted Bard, but after a moment Bard smiled, and Thranduil let the breath out again.

“If we’re going to be friends, I’d rather you weren’t paying me,” he said. “Much as it pains me to turn down a job offer that isn’t delivering parcels all day and most of the night.”

“I will keep my ears open for opportunities,” said Thranduil, inwardly rejoicing that Bard seemed a little more inclined to consider the possibility of friendship between them. “I may not have friends, but I have a great many acquaintances, and many of them are the kind of people who own the sort of thing you are interested in.” 

Bard opened his mouth, looked as though he was reconsidering what he was about to say, and then shook his head. “Thank you,” he said, smiling faintly. “I’d appreciate that. I need to learn not to be so touchy about things.”

Thranduil smiled. “I can quite understand why you would be sensitive about your situation. But I hope you will be able to see past it. I would like to get to know you, and I already know I would appreciate your friendship very greatly.”

Bard was quiet a long time, staring into the fire. “I’d like that,” he said eventually, very quietly. “Christ knows I could do with a friend.”

Thranduil reached out and clinked his glass gently against Bard’s. “I’ll drink to that,” he said. “Friends.”

“Friends,” said Bard. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I just - I saw your card when I got home and it freaked me out. I didn’t realise you had a title.”

“Another accident of birth,” said Thranduil. “It really means very little these days, and I am not the sort of person who wishes to trade on it. You will not see me in the gossip columns. I think most people forget I exist.”

“I don’t think I could do that,” said Bard, glancing up at Thranduil, and then looking away again, a hint of colour staining his cheekbones. 

“Then I am glad,” said Thranduil. “I do not think I would forget that you exist, either. Even if you feel as though the world has forgotten you at the moment.”

Bard laughed softly, bitterly. “That’s exactly how it feels. Most days I feel like the only people who see me, really see me, are my kids.”

“I saw you,” said Thranduil quietly, before he could quite stop himself. “Many times. I wanted to talk to you but I didn’t know how.” He managed not to admit to his increased online shopping habit, but only just.

“Why?” asked Bard, looking at him with a faint frown, confusion written across his handsome face.

“I thought you would be interesting to talk to,” said Thranduil. “I thought you had a kind face. I still do.”

“Really?” said Bard, and Thranduil nodded. “And what do you think now?”

“Now I know you are interesting to talk to, and I also know you are as kind as your face implies,” said Thranduil quietly. 

Bard gave him a sheepish smile. “Thank you. You are too, you know. You didn’t have to take Sigrid in today, you don’t know her from Adam. And you didn’t have to be so nice to me, either.”

“There,” said Thranduil, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “We have something else in common. And perhaps -" he paused as an idea came to him, “perhaps you and your children would like to come here for Christmas, if you don’t already have anything planned?”

Bard blinked, but did not say anything for a long moment, clearly turning Thranduil’s offer over in his head. Thranduil tried not to hold his breath waiting for his response; the idea had only just occurred to him but he found he was already hoping against hope that Bard would say yes.

“I’d like that,” said Bard eventually. “I think the kids would too, they liked your two when they had pancakes with them last weekend, and obviously Sigrid and Tauriel already get on well.”

“I don’t want to impose on your time with your family,” said Thranduil, “but you might perhaps like a change of scene.”

“We don’t do much for Christmas,” said Bard. “Stockings in the morning, then lunch, then presents under the tree. Telly on in the background, and the kids play games and I mostly fall asleep on the sofa. Lunch isn’t anything special, I try and do the kids a turkey dinner but I’m not very good at it.”

“It is quite a quiet affair here, too,” said Thranduil, “although I am sure that will not surprise you. The children do stockings for each other and for me, and I do one each for them. We have a late breakfast and then the tree presents about midday, and then lunch usually in the middle of the afternoon. We all work together to cook it. And then the children play a game and we watch a film. And then - yes, I usually fall asleep. Rather more excitement than I am used to in a single day, these days.”

Bard laughed. “We’re getting old, clearly. Maybe we can keep each other awake, this time.”

“I’d like that,” said Thranduil, and then he thought to look at his watch. “I am sorry, I’ve kept you talking for far too long. Where are those girls?” He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Tauriel, and was surprised to hear her phone chiming in the next room. 

“Oh,” said Bard. “Have they been waiting for us all this time?”

“Who can fathom the minds of teenage girls?” said Thranduil, amused. “Before we go to find them, will you give me your phone number? Then I can arrange Christmas with you.”

“Good idea,” said Bard, pulling out his phone and tapping at the screen, then holding it out so that Thranduil could see a phone book entry headed ‘My phone’. “I can never remember it,” he said, and Thranduil smiled as he created a new entry in his own contacts.

“Very wise,” he said. “It took me a long time to memorise mine. There - now I have your number, and you have mine.”

“Good,” said Bard. “That way I can’t be an idiot again.”

Thranduil shook his head. “You were not an idiot, only - justifiably wary. And I hope you will come to realise that you are quite safe with me.”

“Same here,” said Bard. “I mean, it’s not the same, clearly, but - I guess you probably get people wanting to know you because of who you are, so it must make a change for you to have someone who freaks out because of it.”

“As long as you don’t freak out again,” said Thranduil, with a smile. “Now, we should go and find our daughters. Please don’t feel you have to finish your wine.”

Bard chuckled. “I think I’ll give it a miss. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but -"

“Not at all,” said Thranduil, taking the glass from him and setting it on the drinks cabinet with his own. “I promise the selection will be better at Christmas.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” said Bard, and they went in search of the girls.

They found them in the library, heads together over a book, though they both looked up when their fathers entered the room. 

“Time to go home, Sig,” Bard said, and Thranduil smiled to see the look on Sigrid’s face as she looked at her father, warmth and concern filling her eyes.

“Sorry, Da,” she said. “I know it’s late. Thank you for having me.” This last she directed at Thranduil, and he inclined his head, still smiling.

“You are very welcome. I hope your wrist feels better soon.”

Sigrid flexed her wrist carefully, and smiled. “It’s actually not as painful already. Thank you.”

“Come on, Sig,” said Bard, and she crossed the room to hug him. “You might not be tired yet, but I definitely am.”

“Sorry, Da,” Sigrid said again, but she let him walk her out into the hall, followed by Thranduil and Tauriel. 

“I shall look forward to seeing you all next week,” said Thranduil, and Sigrid looked at him with confusion and then slow-dawning realisation. 

“Tauriel’s Da has invited us for Christmas,” said Bard, and Sigrid smiled broadly at both Thranduil and Tauriel. 

“That’s so kind of you,” she said. “We’ll look forward to it very much. I know Bain and Tilda will too.”

“I am glad,” said Thranduil, and he thought he heard Tauriel, just behind him, make a tiny, triumphant-sounding noise, although he only half-registered it as Bard ushered Sigrid to the front door.

“We’ll see you next week, then,” said Bard. “I’ll be in touch about arrangements.”

“See that you are,” said Thranduil, but he was smiling, and he saw in Bard’s answering smile that he had not taken offence.

And then they were out of the door and into the van and away, and Thranduil leaned in the doorway for a moment, watching the van’s tail-lights disappear down the drive.

“They’re nice, Papa,” said Tauriel, and Thranduil could not help a smile.

“They are,” he said. “I think we will have a lovely day with them.”

“You ought to ask them to stay over,” said Tauriel. “I’m sure Sigrid’s dad would like the chance to have a drink, and anyway, I bet they’d like to go on our Boxing Day walk with us. I don’t think they get out of town much, except for Sigrid’s days at the riding school, I’m sure they’d like to see the garden and the countryside.”

“That’s a very good idea,” said Thranduil, slipping an arm around her and hugging her close for a moment. “I’ll suggest it and see what he says.”

Tauriel’s phone chimed at that moment, and she eased away from him to check it, a smile spreading over her face. 

“Boyfriend?” Thranduil enquired, not entirely seriously, and Tauriel rolled her eyes.

“Friends,” she said. “Group chat. Someone just told a joke, that’s all. Look, Papa, I’m actually quite sleepy, I’m going to go up to bed. Night-night.” She threw her arms around him and leaned up to kiss his cheek, and then she was gone, dashing up the stairs. 

Thranduil shook his head, reminding himself yet again that there was no fathoming teenage girls, and went back into the living room to pour himself a proper glass of wine. That had gone far better than he had expected, all in all, and he felt he had definitely made a friend. And Bard would bring his family to Greenwood Hall for Christmas. 

Thranduil was not certain whether he had interpreted the look in Bard’s eyes correctly, when he had looked at him by the fire. But he thought there was at least a chance that he had, and that gave him a sudden bright hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They did indeed use a medieval weapons specialist to tie up the [wounds on the skeleton of Richard III](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Exhumation_and_reburial_of_Richard_III_of_England#Bones) with the accounts of the Battle of Bosworth Field, just by the way. :D (the descriptions at that link are rather gory, so do proceed with caution)
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santa's little helpers celebrate the success of Phase 1 of their plan; Bard and Thranduil begin to organise Christmas via text message, and to hope that maybe, just maybe, this new friendship of theirs might actually be something more.

_WhatsApp group chat ‘Operation Oblivious Dads’_

**Sigrid:** YES *air punch emoji* why is there not one of those why do I have to type it out?

 **thebainofyourlife:** did it work????

 **Fíli Dude-rinson:** seriously?? did it work? did they at least talk?

 **TaurielG:** they talked! Lots! We stalled coming downstairs a bit after Sigrid’s dad got here, and then when we did come down they were deep in conversation in the living room so we went and hid in the library 😂😂😂

 **Kíli McKíliface:** woohoo result!

 **legs11:** and i totally watched from the top of the stairs while you and papa stood in the doorway and pined as they drove away, T 😜

 **TaurielG:** I was not pining. 

**Sigrid:** Neither was I. 😅

 **legs11:** yeah right. so that’s phase one done. and i also saw how they were looking at each other when they finally came out of the living room so i think phase 2 needs to happen like immediately

 **TaurielG:** Immediately. Well, Papa invited them all for Christmas so we’ve only got a week to sort it out.

 **thebainofyourlife:** christmas with you guys? awesome! 

**thebainofyourlife:** but how do we pull off phase 2?

 **Sigrid:** I have an idea. and Legs, you’re tallest, so you’ll have to do it.

 **legs11:** wait what? what do i have to do?

 **Sigrid:** well, you know what traditionally makes people get *coughcough* closer at xmas???

 **TaurielG:** oooooh Sigrid you’re a genius! we can sort that out, no problem.

 **Fíli Dude-rinson:** pics or it didn’t happen!

 **Kíli McKíliface:** yeah yeah pics!

 **Sigrid:** are you two genuinely asking for photos of our ‘objectively hot’ dads kissing???

 **TaurielG:** 😂😂😂😂😂

 **Fíli Dude-rinson:** _is typing_ …

 **legs11:** hey look i never said anything about papa i only said your dad was

 **Sigrid:** no, I know, I’m saying it about your da. Objectively.

 **TaurielG:** but seriously, you two is that what you’re asking for?

 **Fíli Dude-rinson:** _is typing_ …

 **Kíli McKíliface:** …only as proof that our cunning plan worked successfully! honest! 😁

 **Fíli Dude-rinson:** …yeah that.

 **Sigrid:** yeah right. 

**thebainofyourlife:** you are all gross and inappropriate

 **legs11:** seconded

 **thebainofyourlife:** i’m including you in that legs cos you started it. i’m scarred for life now

 **legs11:** hey i was only saying it as i see it in a totally objective way and now you’re all objectifying both of them and i feel thoroughly uncomfortable

 **thebainofyourlife:** yeah!

 **TaurielG:** oh get over yourselves, we have objectively hot dads, that’s all, we ought to be being proud of it. Anyway, so leave phase 2 to me and Legs, and Fíli and Kíli we’ll keep you posted. Without photos because that would be a gross invasion of privacy 😝

 **Fíli Dude-rinson:** yeah yeah whatever we don’t want them now anyway not now you lot all got weird about it

 **Kíli McKíliface:** we’re very happy to take your word for it thank you

 **Sigrid:** 🙄

 **Fíli Dude-rinson:** what?

 **Sigrid:** you two. 🙄🙄🙄

 **Sigrid:** but seriously thanks for the help with today. I don’t think we’d ever have got them talking otherwise. They’re such idiots. Well, I mean, Da is, I don’t want to speak for Tauriel’s Da.

 **TaurielG:** Papa is totally an idiot too.

 **legs11:** totally. he’d have pined away to nothing cooped up in here.

 **Sigrid:** look, we’re nearly home, I have to go. Talk to you lot later, Bain see you in a mo.

 **TaurielG:** later!  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Bard glanced across at Sigrid as he drove her home; she was tapping away on her phone and grinning to herself, and he chuckled softly.

“Boyfriend?” he teased, though he knew full well Sigrid was far too busy for that sort of thing, she’d told him so herself. 

“Not even remotely, Da,” she said without looking up. “Group chat. Someone made a joke, that’s all, and now it’s getting properly out of hand.”

“You kids get all the fun,” said Bard. 

“Yeah, yeah,” said Sigrid, flapping a hand at him. “Endless schoolwork, unbearable pressure to wear the right clothes, people looking at you funny because you can’t be bothered with makeup and your Instagram’s full of pictures of horses and wildflowers. Fun.” Her voice was heavy with sarcasm and amusement, and Bard chuckled again, this was not the first time they’d had this conversation.

“Ah well, you know what to do about those people, sweetheart,” he said, and Sigrid grinned. 

“Ignore the hell out of ‘em, yeah, Da, that’s what I do. I honestly don’t care what they think of me. It’s why I like Tauriel so much, she doesn’t care either. We had loads of fun at the party at the riding school yesterday afternoon, we just sat to one side judging all the pony club girls and their fancy jodhpurs.” She broke off to tap at her phone again. “I mean, I’m sure they were judging us, but we don’t care.”

“What’s their problem with Tauriel?” Bard asked, curious. “I’d have thought she’d be well in with them.”

Sigrid sighed theatrically. “They think she’s beneath them because she’s adopted. Honestly, they’re ridiculous, they’re so full of who’s richer than who and who’s more aristocratic than who, when Tauriel’s Da’s richer and more of an aristo than any of them.”

“She’s adopted?” Bard asked; Thranduil had not mentioned it, but then again, he supposed, it wasn’t really any of his business.

“Yeah, since she was little. Her da was the woodsman on the estate but something happened - a house fire I think, she doesn’t really talk about it, and her mam and da died and there wasn’t any family to take her in, so her Da - I mean Legolas’ Da and his Mam adopted her and she’s been theirs ever since.”

Bard blinked, realised his jaw had dropped a little in surprise, and closed his mouth again. “That was really good of them,” he said after a moment, a little weakly, because what on earth did you say to that? To learning that your new friend and his wife had taken in a child who had nobody and raised her as their own?

“Wasn’t it?” said Sigrid, tapping away on her phone again. “I mean, Legolas and Tauriel were friends from when they were tiny anyway so it only sort of formalised it. I suppose it made more sense for her to go to them than to strangers.”

“You’ve got to be a particular sort of person to do that,” said Bard quietly, and Sigrid hummed in agreement. 

“You have,” she said, “and he is. I’m glad you talked to him tonight. It’d be nice for you to have a friend, and he’d be a nice friend for you to have.”

There was something in her voice again, something that made Bard think that all was not quite as it seemed here. 

“Have you got something to tell me about tonight, Sig?” he asked, and Sigrid shrugged. 

“Nothing you don’t already know,” she said blandly, and Bard shook his head, he knew that tone of voice. Something was definitely going on here, and Sigrid was up to her neck in it.

On the other hand, if it had given him the chance he needed to get over his nerves about Thranduil, he supposed he probably shouldn’t complain too much about it.

Soon enough he was pulling the van up outside their house, and they headed in to find Bain sprawled on the sofa, half-asleep in front of a very low-budget-looking horror movie. 

“Bed,” Bard said to him. “Now. You’ve got school tomorrow.”

“Nobody’s doing much, Da, it’s the last few days before Christmas,” Bain protested and Bard shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll be feeling rough as anything in the morning if you don’t get enough sleep. Go on with you. You can finish this whatever-it-is some other time.”

“Ugh, fine,” said Bain, but he hauled himself off the sofa and off towards the stairs with relatively little fuss. “You all right, Sig?” he asked as he passed his sister, and again there was that odd tone to his voice, almost like suppressed excitement. What on earth was going on?

“Fine,” said Sigrid. “My wrist doesn’t really even hurt any more. Da, I’m going to bed too, I’m really tired. See you in the morning.”

“See you in the morning. Sleep well, both of you.” Bard watched them head upstairs, and then sat down on the sofa, just for a moment. He’d be off to bed himself in a minute, he was utterly exhausted, but just for a moment he wanted to sit on his own and think over his conversation with Thranduil. 

It was funny how open they’d been with each other, he thought, once the ice had been broken. How he hadn’t actually felt as horribly awkward as he’d expected to when he admitted to Thranduil how out of place he felt around him. How honest Thranduil had been about his own loneliness. How they had fallen into an easy rapport, somehow, without really realising it. 

He also couldn’t stop thinking about the way Thranduil had been looking at him, tentative and hopeful and - he didn’t quite dare to hope that he might have interpreted it all correctly. Probably it was just that he wanted a friend. 

But oh, how Bard hoped he wasn’t barking up the wrong tree. Because it really had looked as though Thranduil was interested in him; as interested as Bard was in Thranduil. He could admit it to himself now; well, he supposed he had to. He hadn’t felt attracted to anyone since Katy, and he hadn’t felt attracted to a man in - he had to stop and think about it - probably twenty years, maybe even longer than that. But Thranduil was…well, he was everything, wasn’t he, beautiful and kind and thoughtful and…oh, the sort of attractive that made Bard feel distinctly weak at the knees. If he only wanted to be friends then Bard would deal with it, but Bard really, really hoped he wanted more.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Thranduil sat on the sofa for a long time, cradling his glass of wine and staring into the fire. It had been a lucky coincidence, most certainly, that Tauriel’s friend happened to be Bard’s daughter. Or perhaps not so coincidental, for there had been something about both Tauriel and Sigrid that gave him the suspicion that something was going on. But it had given him the chance to explain things to Bard and to get to know him a little better, and so he did not feel he could complain.

He was glad that he had managed to explain himself a little to Bard, and that Bard had seemed to take it on board. Their circumstances were different, yes, but beyond that they had a great deal in common, and he felt he recognised in Bard someone he could be good friends with. Or perhaps - he did not quite dare to hope for more, but perhaps it might be possible. He was almost sure he had read attraction in Bard’s eyes, not particularly well hidden, if one knew to look for it; he was almost sure he was not seeing something that was not there, just because he wanted to see it so badly.

And now he had Bard’s phone number. Surely he would not have handed that over if he did not want to know Thranduil better. 

Before he could think better of it, Thranduil slipped his phone out of his pocket, found Bard’s entry in his contacts, and tapped the ‘new message’ icon. 

_Thank you for entrusting me with your number_ , he typed quickly, _it was good to see you this evening._ He might as well be at least a little bit upfront about things, he thought. _I was wondering if there is anything in particular that you and the children like to eat or drink at Christmas, and anything you definitely do not like. No need to respond now, I know it’s late. I look forward to seeing you all next week._ He read it over, considered a moment, and then signed it with a simple letter T. Not that he needed to sign it, since presumably Bard had put his number into his phone from the card by now, and in any case it ought to be obvious who the message was from by its contents, but still.

He pressed the ‘send’ icon and waited until the status read ‘delivered’. It did not change to ‘read’ before his phone’s display turned off, but he reasoned that Bard had probably gone to bed as soon as he got home. Not that he knew how long it would take him to get home, but he had looked exhausted when he had been here, staring into the fire, and Thranduil thought that he needed every moment of sleep that he could get. He tucked the phone back into his pocket, and continued to work his way slowly down his glass of wine. Perhaps the key to this, with Bard, was to give him space to work through his thoughts, and to be prepared to step in and explain or reassure when it became obvious it was necessary. 

He checked his phone’s lock screen once more, when he was setting it to charge on his bedside table before he got into bed, and it was blank. _No matter_ , he thought, _I am not going to worry myself about this now_ , and he slipped between the covers and closed his eyes.

The sun was already up by the time he awoke, feeling as though he had slept well for the first time in several days, and when he glanced at the clock on the bedside table he saw that it was after nine. Slowly, not at all eagerly, he reached out to pick up his phone, and saw on the lock screen that he had two messages, both from Bard. Rather than read them there, he carefully unlocked the phone, trying to ignore how hard his heart was suddenly beating, and made his way to the messaging app. 

_It was good to see you last night_ , said the first message, sent just after six am. _Thank you for taking care of Sigrid. Also I’m glad we cleared the air a bit, and I’m sorry for not contacting you before. And for not getting back to you last night but I went to bed pretty much straight after we got home. I’ll have a think about likes and dislikes and drop you a message a bit later, got to get to the depot now. B._

The second message, sent almost an hour later, said _Actually some of it is easy, Bain and Tilda are a bit funny about vegetables but they’ll eat them, Sigrid can’t eat raw onions, and I’ll eat anything that’s put in front of me with the exception of mince pies. Sorry! 😕 Not very festive I know. B._

Thranduil smiled and stretched, and then tapped out a reply. _Not to worry about the mince pies. How do you feel about Christmas pudding? T._ He pressed ‘send’ and went to have a shower and get dressed, leaving the phone on the bedside table and, standing under the water, he smiled to himself; however this turned out, whether they were to be friends or something more, it would be so much better than being alone, and he would be happy with all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you not familiar with a British Christmas, [mince pies](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mince_pie) are one of the staple foods. And if there are any other things I mention (this is going to be a very British-Christmas-traditions-heavy fic!) that you're curious about, please do ask and I will explain!
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil organise Christmas (and flirt very subtly) via text message, Sigrid makes some suggestions, and Legolas and Tauriel busy themselves decorating Greenwood Hall.

Bard spent the last week or so before Christmas punctuating his seemingly ever-expanding delivery schedule with text messages. Most of them were to and from Thranduil, mostly making arrangements for his and the children’s visit to Greenwood Hall (about which he was absolutely not freaking out), but, here and there, there was a little bit of getting-to-know-you banter which might, he supposed, if you squinted at it, be possible to read as subtle flirting. 

And the rest was increasingly flustered conferences with Sigrid over what they should take with them, whether presents for their hosts would be appropriate and if so, what on earth could they take, whether they should take food or drink with them and if they should, what they should take…all in all, even though he was trying very hard not to be intimidated by Thranduil’s wealth, his title, his position, his beautiful house, it was extremely difficult. Whatever they took with them would not be able to hold a candle to anything Thranduil was able to provide for himself.

 _look, Da,_ texted Sigrid a couple of days in, _why don’t we make something? That way it’d be something they couldn’t get for themselves, right?_

 _I suppose so, but what?_ Bard texted back hurriedly in between drops. _And when? None of us has any time between now and then, we’ve only got a week._

He checked his phone again a few drops later to find another message from Sigrid, and one from Thranduil. He opened Sigrid’s first, ignoring the hammering of his heart at the sight of Thranduil’s name on his phone’s screen.

 _Actually, Da, I’ve had an idea_ , Sigrid’s text said. _You remember Mam had that kit for making sequin baubles for the Christmas tree? I’ve always been meaning to have a go with it, and as soon as term’s over, Bain and Tilda and I will have some free time so we could make one each. Bain’s good at art, he can design them, and you know Til loves anything sparkly._

 _Are you sure?_ Bard texted back. _What about me, shouldn’t I be doing something?_

 _Da, you don’t have time_ , Sigrid shot back; she must be on her lunch break. _You’re working all hours till Christmas Eve. But if you wanted to take some food, you could make some of those medieval mince pies you used to make, one evening, if you’re home early enough, and we can help you. They’re straightforward enough._

 _Good point,_ Bard sent back, _I’ll do that then._ He didn’t like modern mince pies but the medieval ones, with meat and spices, were a different matter entirely and he’d tried to make them every year since he got the recipe from a colleague at the museum. He should have enough time to put them together over the week, too, since the filling needed a few days to marinate. He’d been too tired to remember them, but thank goodness for Sigrid. He’d have to drop into the supermarket on the way home tonight; thank goodness for twenty-four hour opening, too.

He only had time to glance at Thranduil’s message, but he couldn’t quite leave it until after his next drop. 

_I’m putting together a drinks order,_ it said, _don’t worry, I’m not planning to make you drink any more of that non-alcoholic wine. Do the children like fruit juice, and possibly more importantly, do you like champagne? I would hate to make you drink something else you don’t like._

Bard laughed out loud as he put the van into gear and put his phone back in his pocket. He hadn’t had champagne since - he couldn’t remember, but it might just have been his and Katy’s wedding, nearly twenty years ago. Cheap fizz, occasionally, yes, but not champagne. 

_It’d be a treat_ , he texted back after his next delivery. _Haven’t had it in years. Thank you._ And then, after a moment when he realised he hadn’t answered Thranduil’s first question, _the kids love fruit juice btw._

 _Not at all_ , came back while he was driving, and he discovered it at his next stop. _I’m glad you like it, and I’m looking forward to drinking it with you._ It was followed by a second message that consisted only of the clinking-champagne-glasses emoji, and Bard had to pause for a moment, close his eyes and take a deep breath, because that felt _extremely_ like flirting, and he wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do if it turned out not to be. He contented himself with sending back a simple _Me too_ ☺️ and then went to make his delivery, trying to suppress the smile that wanted to spread across his face. 

The rest of the week passed in a similar fashion, a blur of parcels and driving and text messages and subtle flirting, oh god, he hoped it was subtle flirting. Thranduil had taken to texting him at about nine hoping he was home safely, and would sometimes send a message later hoping he was asleep and promising to answer any reply as soon as he saw it in the morning. Bard had to admit to himself that he was quite charmed by Thranduil’s acknowledgement that they kept very different hours, and also that although he was not blatant about it, he also did not feel the need to apologise for sleeping later than Bard did. Bard thought he wouldn’t apologise either, if he could sleep in until nine every morning. He was jealous, but he found that he was not resentful, and although the differences in their situations still nagged at him, he did not feel it as keenly now, and he no longer felt quite so inferior. Thranduil was _nice_ , he was realising, he was kind and funny and not at all averse to sending himself up, and he so clearly wanted to be friends - or more, Bard was still really hoping it was more. Bard was beginning to relax a bit about the whole thing, and oddly enough, he was beginning to feel a little less desperate about his own situation. Maybe Sigrid was right, he thought, maybe what he had really needed all along was a friend.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Thranduil found, over the week following Bard’s visit, that he was looking forward to Christmas more this year than he had in a long time. It had always been one of his favourite times of the year, although after Anna had died the joy had faded from it for a while; and now he always looked forward to having Legolas and Tauriel home and celebrating with them, but this year, having the opportunity to bring the children’s friends into their home, and a friend of his own, as well, a friend he hoped might come to be something more, was adding a great deal to the excitement.

Legolas and Tauriel seemed to be planning something, or at least, they seemed to be spending more time than usual in each other’s rooms, or out in the gardens; one day they came in with armfuls of greenery from the woodland beyond the garden, ivy and holly and fir branches which they set to installing above doorways, along mantelpieces and over pictures. They were up and down stepladders putting up paper chains that had not seen the light of day since they were tiny children, and decorations that Thranduil thought he had not seen since his own childhood. 

“Did you two go rummaging through every single attic and cellar in the house to find all of that?” he asked them one afternoon a couple of days before Christmas, when they were each standing at the top of a stepladder in the main hallway attempting to sling long strings of tinsel over the chandeliers. 

“Maybe,” said Legolas, and, “Definitely,” said Tauriel, almost in unison, and Thranduil laughed. 

“We thought we’d make a bit of extra effort,” said Tauriel, “since we’re going to be having guests this year.”

“Besides, we haven’t seen most of this stuff for ages,” said Legolas. “I remember making these paper chains with Mama when I was really little.”

“I remember that too,” said Thranduil quietly. “Both of you on the living room floor, surrounded by piles of paper chains. Didn’t she end up burying you in them, to play a joke on me?”

Legolas grinned. “We pretended that Mama didn’t know where I was, and then I burst out of the chains to surprise you. Although I think you knew all along that I was there.”

“Not at all,” said Thranduil, but he was smiling. “I had the surprise of my life.”

“Of course you did, Papa,” said Tauriel around a giggle. “I think Mama would be very pleased that we’re having Sigrid and her family to Christmas, you know.”

“She always did say it was for sharing,” said Legolas, wafting a string of tinsel at the chandelier. “And that family is about more than blood.” He scrunched another length of tinsel into a ball, tied it loosely, and threw it at Tauriel so that it bounced off her head; she grabbed it and threw it back at him. 

“Exactly,” she said. “I think she’d be very pleased that you’ve made a friend, too, Papa.”

“You make me sound like a small child on his first day at school,” said Thranduil, but he thought that the children were right; Anna would have had something to say about how he had closed himself off from the world after her death. 

“You’re hardly that, Papa,” said Legolas, leaning on the ladder and looking down at him. “But it would be nice for you to have someone other than Galion to talk to when we’re not here.”

“I talk to plenty of people,” Thranduil protested, and Legolas rolled his eyes. 

“Like who?” he demanded. “Your banker and your accountant and your solicitor and Feren over in the estate office don’t count.” 

Thranduil sighed. “All right, it is a little quiet around here when you two are at school. But I can’t see that changing enormously even if Bard and I do become friends. He’s very busy.”

“Not too busy for you, I’m sure,” said Tauriel. “Anyway, we’ll have them here for two days so you can get to know each other properly and I’m sure you can sort something out.”

“When did you become my social secretary, I’d like to know,” said Thranduil, chuckling softly as he left them to it and headed for his study. He had some things to check for Feren, his estate manager, and a document or two to sign for his accountant, not to mention two newspapers to read. Besides, he was beginning to feel as though he was being very gently interrogated by his children, and he was not entirely certain what they were up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The medieval mince pies recipe actually exists, and was given to me by a colleague many years ago. It's on my Tumblr [here](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com/post/637947223819386881/medieval-mince-pies-a-recipe) if any of you want to give it a go - sadly not suitable for vegetarians and vegans, but for the rest of you I can highly recommend it; they're delicious!
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas morning! And the kids have a Plan for Bard and Thranduil. Tilda is their secret weapon. :D

_WhatsApp group chat ‘Operation Oblivious Dads’, Christmas Eve_

**TaurielG:** it is DONE

 **legs11:** we had to hide it in the boot room for two days and distract papa from wanting to go outside so he didn’t find it, and i nearly broke my neck on the stepladder but it’s done

 **Sigrid:** well done you two. Let’s hope it works!

 **thebainofyourlife:** well we just all have to make sure we get them together under it tomorrow. surround them or something. without looking suspicious

 **Fíli Dude-rinson:** good luck! and let us know how you get on.

 **Kíli McKíliface:** without pictures we totally don’t need pictures of your objectively hot dads snogging

 **Fíli Dude-rinson:** totally not. just let us know if it works, that’s all.

 **Sigrid:** will do. now I’m going to bed, it’s late, and Tilda’s going to be up at stupid o’clock wanting to open her stocking so I want to get at least some sleep. See you tomorrow, Tauriel and Legs!

 **legs11:** see you tomorrow!

 **TaurielG:** See you tomorrow! It’s going to be brilliant. 😁

 **thebainofyourlife:** yeah it’ll be amazing, see you later!

 **Fíli Dude-rinson:** have a great day!

 **Kíli McKíliface:** yeah, have a great day!

 **TaurielG:** you too!  
  
  


* * *

  
  
“Da? Da, it’s Christmas!” 

Bard swam slowly up to consciousness, prompted by Tilda’s excited voice and the vague sensation that she was bouncing on the side of the bed that he wasn’t occupying. 

“Is it, kitten?” he mumbled, feeling as though he’d only closed his eyes a moment ago. The room was dark, so it was definitely long before sunrise. “Didn’t we say you had to wait until it was light?”

“But Da, it’s Christmas,” said Tilda, and then Bard heard Bain’s voice on the landing, closely followed by Sigrid. 

“Til, leave Da to sleep, will you?” That was Bain, and - 

“Tilda, come on. Da’s exhausted. Let him sleep a bit longer, will you?” And that was Sigrid. The pressure on the mattress vanished, and there was a quiet scuffling sound, accompanied by a soft gasp from Tilda.

“I forgot!” she said. “I’m sorry, Da, I forgot, I woke up and it was Christmas!”

“No worries, kitten,” Bard mumbled, and then the kids retreated and he fell back into oblivion again.

The next time he surfaced, feeling considerably less exhausted, it was light outside, behind the curtains, and the kids were talking quietly downstairs. He groaned, rolled over, and looked at the display on his phone; it was half past nine. 

_Crap._ He rolled out of bed and headed for the shower, slowly waking up under the hot water, and then scrubbed himself dry and rummaged in the wardrobe for clothes. He didn’t really have anything smart enough for a nice Christmas at a stately home, but he did have a non-washed-out pair of black jeans without any holes in them and a dark red button-up shirt made of a soft, brushed cotton, so he grabbed those and found underwear - the nicest pair of black shorts he could find in the drawer, not that there was any reason to be wanting to wear nice underwear - and a pair of socks without any holes in, and then dressed as quickly as he could. He debated briefly with himself over what to do about his hair - tie it up? tie half of it up? leave it down? - then decided that he tied it back every day for work, he might as well brush it out and leave it down.

Then he remembered that they were supposed to be staying over, and he grabbed another set of underwear - thank goodness, there seemed to be two of the nice black shorts, maybe they’d been a set, not that there was _any_ reason to take nice underwear - and another pair of decent socks, and a t-shirt from the other drawer, and one of his old faithful band shirts and a pair of plain black pyjama trousers for sleeping in. Then he thought that it might be cold, and he’d probably better have something else to put on. His only smart jacket was part of the suit he only ever wore for weddings and funerals, but he did have a fairly smart jumper, dark grey and cable-knit, something that Katy had found for him years ago, soft and warm. He held it to his face for a moment; it didn’t smell of her, but it reminded him of her anyway. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing, love,” he found himself murmuring. “I really don’t know what I’m doing. I just…I just really hope it works out.”

No answer came, of course, but he felt a little better about everything for having spoken to her, even though she wasn’t there. He dumped the jumper and his change of clothes on the bed, and went in search of the kids. 

They were eating breakfast in their pyjamas in the living room, and as he came down the stairs Sigrid jumped to her feet and brought him a mug of hot coffee. 

“Sorry about earlier, Da,” she said, and Tilda looked up from where she was curled on the sofa with a bowl of cereal.

“Sorry, Da,” she piped up, looking rather forlorn. “I forgot.”

“I know, kitten,” Bard said, going to sit in his armchair, “and I don’t blame you. It’s Christmas, after all, isn’t it? I’m sorry I’ve been so tired. No fun at all, eh?”

“It’s not your fault, Da,” said Tilda, setting her cereal on the coffee table and coming over to climb into his lap. “It’s just how things are.”

“Not for ever, I hope,” he said, gathering her into his arms, carefully, and taking a sip of his coffee. “I don’t want to be like this all the time. I barely see you as it is.”

“We know, Da,” said Bain. “It sucks, but we understand.”

“And you’ve got two whole days with us now,” said Tilda brightly. “And with Tauriel and Legolas and their Da! Sigrid says their house is really nice.”

“It’s lovely,” said Bard. “I don’t suppose you remember, when your Mam was still here and we used to go to National Trust places, but it’s like that, only people live in it, instead of it being open to the public.”

Tilda scrunched up her face - Katy had always called it her thinking face - and Bard wasn’t sure she’d remember, she’d only been five when Katy had died, but then her eyes lit up. “I think I remember. Great big rooms, everything all shiny and lots of paintings of people in funny dresses, and there was a playground in the garden.”

“That’s about the size of it,” said Bard. “Only there isn’t a playground in the garden, as far as I know.”

“Oh,” said Tilda, her face falling for a moment before she brightened again. “But that doesn’t matter because it’s cold outside and we’ll be indoors. And we’ll have lots of other things to do, like presents, and dinner.”

“Speaking of presents,” said Sigrid, “I know we’re taking ours to put under the tree at Greenwood Hall, but we wanted to give you this now, while we have our stockings.” She had a small parcel in her hands, but before she could hand it over, Tilda perked up.

“Oh, stockings!” she said excitedly, sliding off Bard’s lap and scampering over to where she had left her own stocking, by the sofa. “I nearly forgot!”

“Funny,” said Bain, “seeing as you were so keen on opening it that you woke Da up at six.”

“Leave it,” said Bard, “it’s all right. No harm done, and all.”

“Anyway,” said Sigrid, holding out the little package, “we wanted to give you this here. It isn’t much, but we hope you like it.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” said Bard. “All of you.” He began to peel the tape off the parcel, and then glanced up at them. “Go on, get on with your stockings, I know you’re dying to open them.”

Tilda and Bain needed no further encouragement, but Sigrid lingered by his chair for a moment while he opened his present, carefully peeling the tape away so that the paper could be reused next year. Inside, there turned out to be a travel mug with a soft felt sleeve, on which someone (he suspected Bain, who was the one with the artistic talent in the family) had very carefully written _Best Da in the World_. He turned it over in his hands, smoothing his thumb over the writing, and had to pause for a moment before he could speak.

“Thank you,” he said eventually, his voice a little rusty, “all of you. It’s wonderful.”

“We know you have your thermos flask for during the day,” Sigrid said, “but we thought you might like to put your morning coffee in this one. You don’t get time to drink it, half the time.”

Bard had to swallow down the lump in his throat at her words; she was right, he often ended up leaving his coffee half-drunk otherwise he’d be late to the depot. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, and then he put both his current coffee and the travel mug on the coffee table so that he could pull her into a hug. Tilda came and wormed her way back onto his lap again, her stocking presents already well and truly opened, and after a moment Bain came to stand behind him and wrap his arms around Bard’s neck. This, Bard thought, this was more precious than anything else. If he had his kids, he could face anything. 

After a moment or two, Bain straightened up again, and Bard glanced at the clock on the bookshelf. 

“All right, you lot,” he said, grateful for the opportunity to return to normal, “go and get ready, we have to be at Greenwood Hall for eleven, don’t forget. Put your nice things on, but don’t forget a jumper, it might be cold. And don’t forget to grab a change of clothes for tomorrow, and your washing things, seeing as we’re staying over. And your coats and boots, I’m pretty sure they said something about going for a walk tomorrow.”

The kids scuttled off, and Bard sat for a moment in silence, finishing his coffee and looking at the travel mug, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. They noticed more than he thought they did, clearly, especially Sigrid, and he wondered how much of his inner despair they had picked up on. He probably ought to try harder to hide it; it wasn’t fair to put it on their shoulders. 

But for now they were going to have a very brief holiday; at first he had not quite known what to make of Thranduil’s offer that they stay over until Boxing Day, but he hadn’t been able to turn him down, once he’d thought about it. The thought of staying in that beautiful house, and being able to give his children that experience, even if it only happened once, had swayed him, and he had soon texted back thanking Thranduil for the offer and taking him up on it. 

Now, of course, he was feeling distinctly nervous about it, but he tried to shove his nerves down, banish them to the back of his mind. He had got on all right with Thranduil when he had spoken to him last week, and they had carried on a friendly - if not flirtatious - conversation via text message ever since. It didn’t matter that Thranduil owned half the county, and if Bard kept telling himself that then perhaps he would start to believe it. Everything would be fine. 

The kids were ready sooner than he expected, and soon enough they were piling into the van, overnight bags and bag of presents and box of medieval mince pies stowed carefully in the parcel nets. Tilda was wearing her favourite party dress, a riotous affair in blue and purple that Bard thought was probably supposed to be a fairy costume; it was getting too small for her, but it would do for now. Bain had on his smartest jeans and a Minecraft t-shirt, with a plain dark blue sweatshirt over it, and Sigrid was wearing a pair of dark red jeans with a sparkly black top and a long, baggy, fluffy knitted cardigan in several shades of dark red and green. They had all polished their shoes, and all in all, Bard thought, they made a pretty good showing. It certainly wasn’t obvious that most of their clothes had come from charity shops and the rest from sale rails and clearance baskets. 

“You’re all looking fantastic,” he said as he started the van, and Tilda wriggled in her seat. 

“You look fantastic too, Da,” she said. “Like you’re going to a party, which you should, because we are. It’s exciting!”

“So we are, and so it is,” said Bard, pulling away from the kerb, and off they went. 

This time he didn’t mind having to press the buzzer at the gate to Greenwood Hall’s long drive, and he minded even less when instead of the gates just opening, a deep and familiar voice emanated from the tinny speaker.

“Welcome,” said Thranduil, fuzzily. “If you take the fork to the right just before the house, you will come to the stable yard, where Legolas will show you where to park the van.”

“All right,” said Bard, though he had no idea whether Thranduil could hear him, and then the gates opened and he drove through, taking the fork to the right as he had been instructed. Sure enough, there was Legolas, wearing a Santa hat and waving cheerfully, pointing at an open garage as he came jogging up to the driver’s side window. 

“Pull in there, and then you’re safely out of the way,” he said, pointing to the garage again. “We don’t often get people chancing it with the cars, but better safe than sorry.”

Bard did as he was told, and then the children scrambled out of the van and went for the sliding door to collect the bags, though Bain almost got distracted by the cars in the garage. Bard only gave them a cursory look, reasoning that it was better not to look too hard in case he got tangled up in his insecurities again, but he noticed at least two very sleek and shiny-looking things, a classic Mini with L plates front and back, and a reassuringly battered and mud-covered Land Rover. 

But then Tilda was tugging him by the hand out of the garage, and Sigrid and Bain were close behind; he just about remembered to click the ‘lock’ button on the van key, and then the children were more or less hustling him after Legolas, who led them through an archway and round to the front of the house, where the door was standing open and in the doorway - Bard pre-emptively told himself to get a grip before he got a good look at Thranduil, and even with that precaution he caught his breath. Thranduil was impeccably dressed, as always, in slender, charcoal-grey jeans, shiny black shoes, a very soft-looking gunmetal-silver shirt - and his glorious hair was braided back out of his face in a long plait that fell forward over his shoulder. 

“Welcome,” he said, “a happy Christmas to all of you, and do come in.” He stepped back from the door into the middle of the hallway, and Bard led the kids up the steps and in through the door. Bain and Tilda were looking round open-mouthed, and Tauriel appeared from the living room, dashing over to wrap Sigrid up in a hug. Legolas came in last and closed the door behind them, and then Bard realised that he was standing slightly closer to Thranduil than he had expected, and he wasn’t sure what to do, should he shake his hand, or - ?

“Morning,” he said, rather awkwardly. “Happy Christmas.”

Thranduil smiled. “It is lovely to see you all. Sigrid I have met, of course, and this must be Bain and Tilda.”

Bain shuffled his feet a bit and said hello, and Tilda, somewhat unaccountably, did a rather wobbly curtsey, and then resumed her staring around at the hallway.

“Oh, Da, look!” she said after a moment, pointing upwards; Bard looked up to see that he was standing, with Thranduil, directly under one of the chandeliers, to which had been affixed a bunch of mistletoe. “That means you have to kiss the person closest to you!”

Bard’s heart sank and soared at the same time, if such a thing were possible. He looked at Thranduil with an expression that he really hoped conveyed both ‘I am so sorry about this’ and also ‘I really would like to kiss you if you don’t mind’. 

But Thranduil only laughed, though his eyebrows had gone up at first sight of the mistletoe. “You have caught us, Tilda,” he said, and he stepped a little closer, bending his head and pressing a brief, soft kiss to Bard’s lips; and Bard’s brain shorted out for a moment. Thranduil could have kissed Bard’s cheek, or his forehead, or...his hand, or something, or refused to kiss him entirely, made up some excuse - but he had gone for Bard’s mouth, and Bard couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. 

The kids scattered into the living room, all of them giggling, and Bard made to follow, but Thranduil grasped his wrist gently.

“Wait,” he said softly. “Now that we no longer have an audience - I would rather like to do that again.” He paused, very slightly, and then added, “Properly. If you don’t mind.”

Bard caught his breath and looked up at him - and how unusual it was for him to have to look _up_ at someone in this situation.

“I’d love to,” he murmured, and he tilted his head up to press a kiss to Thranduil’s perfect mouth, soft and tentative at first, parting his lips very slightly to see if Thranduil would open for him and then, when he did, suppressing a shiver as he darted his tongue out to touch it to Thranduil’s, still tentative but growing a little bolder. Thranduil’s hands came up to cradle his head, long fingers sliding into his hair, and Bard found himself gripping Thranduil’s shoulders a little too hard, as though he were holding on for fear of falling. He could not quite believe that this was happening, but if it were a dream, he could happily sleep for the rest of his life.

Eventually they eased apart, and Bard had to catch his breath, feeling almost dizzy. 

“We should probably go and see to the children,” he said, rather breathlessly, and Thranduil smiled. 

“In a moment,” he said. “First, will you let me kiss you again?”

Bard nodded, almost speechless. “As many times as you like,” he found himself saying, and then - _oh_ , their lips met again and this time it was not tentative, it was searing and lingering and everything Bard had dreamed of and more and he found himself clinging on for dear life and hoping it would never end. 

“I have wanted to do that for a very long time,” Thranduil whispered against his mouth, and Bard’s brain nearly shorted out again. “Longer than I know how to tell you.”

Bard found he couldn’t speak, he was so surprised, and Thranduil laughed very softly. 

“I will tell you later,” he said. “But for now - come on, let’s go and see to the children, and I will get you a drink. I think we both need one.”

“I should say,” said Bard, and he let Thranduil guide him into the living room with a hand at the small of his back, feeling thoroughly and comprehensively overwhelmed.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
_WhatsApp group chat ‘Operation Oblivious Dads’, Christmas Day_

**Sigrid:** MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. No time to fill you in now but we thought we’d let you know.

 **Fíli Dude-rinson:** woohoo! 🎉🎉🎉

 **Kíli McKíliface:** double woohoo! tell us everything when you have time!

 **Sigrid:** don’t worry, we will. Happy Christmas by the way. Got to go, they’re about to come into the room 😂

 **Fíli Dude-rinson:** happy xmas! don’t get busted!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Presents are exchanged, confessions are made - and Bard and Thranduil are not the only ones taking advantage of the mistletoe...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of this story carries a giant fluff warning, larger than the tags can adequately convey. Just so's you know. :D

Thranduil followed the line of Tilda’s pointing finger, up to the chandelier above his head, and saw that there was a bunch of mistletoe fixed to the finial at the bottom - and it was directly above him and Bard. His eyebrows went up for a moment, and he darted a glance at Tauriel and Legolas, both of whom were looking suspiciously as though butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. Sigrid and Bain, too, looked remarkably innocent, and it was only Tilda giving away any excitement as she pointed out to them what standing under the mistletoe meant. 

Bard gave him a look that seemed to be equal parts apology and sheepish acknowledgement, and Thranduil decided it was a risk worth taking; he laughed and told Tilda that she had caught them, and then, rather than demurring, or stepping back, or kissing Bard’s cheek, he took his courage in both hands and brushed a very fleeting kiss across Bard’s mouth. It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t the kiss he wanted to give him, but if it was the only one he’d get chance for, he thought it would do very nicely indeed.

Bard’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and then he smiled, and Thranduil felt his heart turn over in his chest. The children fled, giggling, and Bard made to follow them, but Thranduil caught his wrist and asked him to stay, just for a moment. Just enough to try for another kiss, a proper one this time, and to his absolute delight, Bard stayed, and kissed him, not once but twice, and it was all Thranduil could do not to gasp at the sensations fizzing through him, like summer lightning, like the bubbles in a glass of champagne, like - like nothing he had felt in a very long time indeed.

He thought there was a slight scuffle in the doorway to the living room as he and Bard eventually went in to see what the children were doing, and to get a drink, almost as though several someones had been crowding around the door and then scattered to sit very casually in various places across the room, Legolas on the hearthrug, Tauriel and Sigrid on one of the sofas, Tilda by the Christmas tree and Bain in an armchair. There was definitely something going on, but he thought they could wait to find out what it was. In the meantime, he had promised Bard a drink. Something light to begin with, he thought. 

“How do you feel about bucks fizz?” he asked Bard, and the smile that spread across his face made him shiver all over again. 

“Enthusiastic,” Bard said, and Thranduil chuckled, heading for the drinks cabinet and the bottle of champagne that was sitting in an ice bucket beside a bottle of lemonade and another of orange juice. 

“Would anyone else like one? There is lemonade for those who are not old enough for champagne.” Thranduil said; Legolas stuck up his hand, and after a moment’s consideration, so did Tauriel. Thranduil glanced at Bard, would Sigrid be allowed one with champagne or would she have to have lemonade?

“Sigrid can have a splash of champagne if she wants it,” said Bard. “Tilda will have to make do with lemonade, and I think Bain would probably prefer it.”

Bain made a face from across the room. “Yes please. Lemonade, I mean. Alcohol smells funny.”

Thranduil laughed. “That is the best attitude to have, at least until you are older. Sigrid, which would you like?”

“Can I have a tiny bit of champagne please?” she asked, looking delighted to be considered grown-up enough. 

“Of course,” said Thranduil, and he busied himself with opening the champagne and pouring the drinks, grateful for the distraction, although he did not miss that Bard stayed close by, waiting for the glasses to be filled and then handing them round; he did not look awkward, not today, nor did he seem intimidated by his surroundings any more, and Thranduil wondered whether perhaps he should have been more upfront about his interest in him earlier. Perhaps it would have saved both of them a lot of worry.

He poured their drinks last, with a little more champagne and a little less orange juice than he had given Legolas and Tauriel - Sigrid’s glass had contained only a splash of champagne, as requested - and handed a glass to Bard, clinking his own softly against it. Bard glanced at him, a smile in his eyes, and though neither of them spoke the words of a toast, Thranduil felt as though they were drinking to their future anyway. Together, he hoped.

They sat on one of the sofas, one at each end, and watched the children chattering together for a while, getting to know each other. Tilda bounced over from the Christmas tree and flopped down on the hearthrug next to Legolas, and Thranduil smiled to see his son making friends with the little girl. He was eighteen now, a man grown, but clearly not above making the effort to make Tilda welcome.

After a while, when both he and Bard had finished their drinks, Thranduil leaned forward in his seat.

“Children,” he said, “what would you say to presents now? Then perhaps Legolas and Tauriel can give Sigrid, Bain and Tilda the tour of the house before lunch.”

“Presents!” said Tilda, clapping her hands, and then looking a little stricken, as though afraid she had been rude. But Legolas got to his feet and put out a hand to help her up, smiling down at her.

“Presents,” he said. “I think this is the best part. Do you want to help me give them out?”

“Oh, yes please!” said Tilda, and off they went to the tree, still hand-in-hand. Thranduil glanced at Bard and the affectionate look in his eyes as he watched his little girl begin to hand out the presents from under the tree almost made his heart turn over yet again. This was serious, he was beginning to realise, and he really hoped that Bard felt the same way.

Tilda took her present-distribution very seriously, and between her and Legolas they had everything handed out to the right person in hardly any time at all. And once they were handed out, everyone settled down to open their parcels. Thranduil was a little nervous at how his and the children’s gifts to Bard and his family would be received; they had tried to select things that were nice but not showy, and nothing too uncomfortably expensive. 

Tilda, perhaps unsurprisingly, was the first one to open her present, and she squealed happily from where she had settled back on the hearthrug with Legolas as she saw that it was a hardback notebook with a nice pen; Thranduil had remembered that Bard had said that his youngest wanted to be a writer, and he hoped she would find many things to write in it.

Bain had a set of watercolour paints and a watercolour pad, which he exclaimed over, wide-eyed, and Sigrid a messenger bag that Tauriel had selected, made of leather embroidered in bright colours. Thranduil watched as Sigrid realised there was something inside the bag, and pulled out a book; her eyebrows went up and her eyes widened, and then she turned to Thranduil and thanked him profusely, showing Bard the title of the book. 

“‘Activism Starts Here: A Girl’s Guide to Changing the World’, eh?” he said. “Should I be worried?”

“Not at all, Da,” said Sigrid, laughing. “It’s not you I want to change.”

“Well, I’d best be thankful for small mercies,” said Bard, and Sigrid rolled her eyes at him. 

Thranduil, Legolas and Tauriel each had small gift bags from Bard and the children, and Thranduil watched as his son and his daughter each discovered a sequinned Christmas tree bauble, a little packet of homemade ginger cookies and a hand-drawn bookmark. 

“We didn’t know what to get you,” said Sigrid, “so we made things instead. Tilda made the cookies, Bain drew the bookmarks, and all three of us made the baubles, but Bain designed them.”

“They’re wonderful,” said Tauriel, and Legolas echoed her. 

“They are,” he said. “Thank you all so much.”

Thranduil waited until the children had opened all their presents before he began on his own, and he noticed that Bard did too. But eventually the children had finished, and Bard began to peel the tape off the parcel for him, carefully, meticulously; but eventually he was unwrapping the parcel and revealing a scarf, soft, almost fluffy wool in muted shades of red and grey. Thranduil had no idea if he needed something like it while he was out on his delivery rounds, but perhaps if the two of them could ever find the time, they might be able to go for a walk or two. 

“It’s lovely,” Bard murmured, burying his hands in the soft wool. “Thank you, all of you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” said Thranduil, and Tauriel and Legolas flashed smiles across the room. 

“You shouldn’t have,” said Bard quietly, and Thranduil shook his head. 

“Of course we should,” he said firmly, and he took up the gift bag that Tilda had handed him, drawing out of it a packet of cookies, a bauble covered in a sequinned leaf design, and a bookmark with a design of vines, leaves and flowers in bright marker pens. “And these are wonderful, and I thank you all for them.”

Later, once the presents were all handed out and unwrapped and exclaimed over, Thranduil suggested again that Legolas and Tauriel should show Bard’s children the house. 

“Come on,” said Tauriel. “We don’t use most of it, so it’s mostly covered in dust sheets, but there’s some fun stuff to look at.” 

And off they went. Thranduil turned to Bard with a small smile. “I don’t suppose I can persuade you to help me finish preparing lunch? I don’t mean to bring you here as my guest and then make you work, but I thought it would be easier if the children were otherwise occupied. Too many cooks, as they say.”

Bard laughed. “I don’t mind at all. If I’m honest it’ll be nice to be alone with you for a little while.”

Thranduil let out a tiny sigh of relief. “Then there is no hurry. Lunch will keep for a little while.” He shifted on the sofa, moving a little closer to Bard, and as he did so, something caught his eye in the hallway, Tauriel’s red hair and - he caught Bard’s eye, and tilted his head very slightly, pressing one finger to his lips. 

Bard turned to follow his gaze, just in time to see Tauriel and Sigrid easing apart under the mistletoe, and from where they were they could not see either girl’s face, but their bearing spoke volumes. And then Tauriel caught Sigrid’s hand and they ran off after the others. 

Bard and Thranduil looked at each other, and then both laughed softly. 

“It seems that we are not the only ones who have found a use for that bunch of mistletoe,” said Thranduil, and Bard shook his head, laughing again. 

“Doesn’t it just,” he said. “I had no idea.”

“Neither did I,” said Thranduil. “You do not mind?”

“Not a bit of it,” said Bard. “Tauriel seems like a nice girl, and Sigrid knows, as long as she’s keeping up at school, not letting herself get distracted, and being careful, I don’t have a problem with her having - well, I suppose I was thinking of boyfriends, but I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me that she might prefer a girlfriend.”

Thranduil chuckled softly. “Tauriel is at an all-girls’ school so I suppose it had crossed my mind, but she has never mentioned anything to me.” He shook his head. “Well, I suppose she is a teenage girl, she is not going to think of confiding in her father as a first choice.”

“They’re growing up,” said Bard quietly. “Growing away from us.”

“They are,” said Thranduil. “But I think they are close enough to their respective fathers that they will always come back.”

“I hope so,” said Bard. “I’ve only got another couple of years with Sigrid before she’ll be off to university. I’m not quite sure what I’ll do without her.”

“You will not be alone,” said Thranduil before he could quite help himself. “I hope. I don’t want to be too forward, but -“ 

Bard cut him off at that point by leaning in and kissing him, and Thranduil sighed softly, sliding his hands into Bard’s hair again. 

“I would like that so much,” Bard murmured. “I know it’s moving fast, but - I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the summer,” Thranduil found himself saying; well he was going to have to confess eventually.

“The summer?” asked Bard, one eyebrow going up a bit, and Thranduil glanced away for a second, feeling awkward. 

“I saw you when you delivered one of my wine orders,” he said quietly. “Let’s just say I now have a rather more well-stocked wine cellar than I did.”

Bard blinked, and then let out a disbelieving-sounding laugh. “You kept making orders because you wanted me to come back?” He shook his head. “Why didn’t you just say?”

“I was -“ Thranduil broke off, looking for a word that wasn’t ‘shy’. “Afraid,” he settled for, eventually. 

“Why?” asked Bard, softly, looking completely confused. 

“Because it has been a long time since I felt attracted to anyone. Because although I have always known I can be attracted to men as well as women, I have never -“ He sighed. “I married my first girlfriend. I think I am still mourning her, although it has been nearly eight years. I thought I wasn’t capable of feeling anything like this for anyone any more. And then there you were, and I had no idea what to do.”

Bard was still looking at him with an expression of complete bewilderment. “All that - for me?”

“All that, for you,” said Thranduil, and a smile spread across Bard’s face. 

“I always thought there was someone watching me,” he said. “I couldn’t work out who. Sometimes I could see someone in the window, but I couldn’t see you clearly.” He shook his head again. “I wish you’d come to talk to me sooner.”

“So do I,” said Thranduil. “But - well, we are here now, aren’t we?”

Bard grinned. “We’re here now. And I really think I should kiss you again. You’re adorable.”

Thranduil laughed softly. “I don’t think anyone has ever called me that before. But yes - I think you absolutely should kiss me again.”

“All right,” said Bard, and he pulled Thranduil close again and kissed him very soundly; Thranduil sighed and let his eyes fall closed, letting everything else melt away, leaving only the shivers running through him at the touch of Bard’s tongue to his, the soft, insistent pressure of his mouth, _oh_ , it had been so long, and this was such a little thing, but he knew he was already falling, and falling hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am reliably informed by my beta, the fabulous [lemurious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemurious), that what we call a 'bucks fizz' is called a 'mimosa' in the States. Champers and orange juice, basically. :D Cheers!
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard helps Thranduil finish preparing lunch, and they realise that they each think the other is way out of their league...

After a little while - not long enough, Bard thought a little frantically to himself - an alarm chimed on Thranduil’s watch and he pulled away, wearing a rather regretful expression.

“I’m afraid lunch can’t wait any longer,” he said. “Most of it is done, but there are still a few things to finish off, if you don’t mind joining me in the kitchen?”

Bard thought that he’d follow Thranduil anywhere, at this moment in time, but he managed not to say it. “I don’t mind at all,” he said instead. “Happy to do whatever you need me to.” Which he meant in more than one sense, and he thought that the sparkle in Thranduil’s eye meant he’d understood. 

Thranduil chuckled and stood up, gracefully unfolding his tall frame and extending a hand to Bard to pull him up; Bard tried not to wince as his tired joints complained about having to move, and took the opportunity to wrap Thranduil up in a brief embrace, holding him close for a second. Thranduil hugged him back, sliding his arms around him and resting his cheek on Bard’s hair for a moment, and then stepped back very gently. 

“Come on,” he said. “We will not be popular if we let the turkey dry out or the potatoes burn.”

“Good point,” said Bard, and he followed Thranduil out of the room and down a long corridor towards some rather delicious smells. They passed through a doorway with a heavy door, currently propped open, and then Bard realised that they must be in what would once have been the servants’ quarters; the walls were more plainly decorated, and they passed a set of bells each with their own label carefully lettered with the name of a room. 

“Do those still work?” he asked, and Thranduil shook his head.

“Unfortunately not,” he said. “When the corridor was repainted in my father’s time, the painters painted over the ropes and now they don’t move. Although it’s not much of a hardship, given that there are no staff any more. Galion is my only household employee, and he and I communicate by text message more often than not, if we are not in the same part of the house at the same time.”

“I suppose it’s the modern version of it, isn’t it?” said Bard as they went into the kitchen, and then he had to pause for a moment to take it all in. There was a wide range-style cooker in what had clearly once been the fireplace, scrubbed-wood worktops and cabinets that looked easily a hundred years old, a long, wide table with chairs pulled up to it and a pile of papers on one corner; looking up, Bard saw a clothes-drying rack and several hooks suspended from the ceiling, some of them with bunches of herbs and dried flowers hanging from them. Thranduil followed his gaze and smiled. 

“The drying rack does not see much use any more, since we got our first tumble dryer,” he said. “My mother insisted. These days it usually only gets used for coats and jackets, if we’ve been out in the rain. Now, the turkey and potatoes need another half an hour, but the sausages in bacon and the stuffing need to go into the oven - would you mind fetching them out of the fridge? It’s behind the cupboard door to your left, there.”

Bard pulled experimentally on the handle of the cabinet door closest to him, and found that it did indeed conceal a very modern-looking fridge, and inside, sure enough, were a baking tray of sausages wrapped in bacon, and another of little balls of stuffing. He pulled them out and put them on the table while he closed the fridge again, and when he turned around Thranduil had already taken them and was putting them in one of the ovens in the range. 

“I suppose your mam and da aren’t around any more?” Bard said after a moment; he wasn’t over-familiar with the aristocracy but he was pretty certain that Thranduil wouldn’t be on his own in this big house with his title if his father, at least, was still alive.

Thranduil shook his head. “They were quite old when I was born, and my father died when Legolas was three. My mother survived him by seven years, but she, too, is gone.” He sighed softly. “She died the same year as Anna.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Bard, and he crossed the kitchen to slide his arms a little tentatively around Thranduil’s waist, not sure if the familiarity of the gesture would be appreciated. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Thranduil sighed again, and drew Bard a little closer, resting his cheek on Bard’s hair again. “I am not upset,” he said quietly. “Only it is days like this that remind me that I have very few people left in my life.”

“You don’t have to be alone,” said Bard, stepping back a little and tilting his head up so that he could look Thranduil in the eye. “I meant what I said, earlier. I’d like to give this a try - us, together. If you want to.”

“I very much want to,” said Thranduil. “The children pointed out to me the other day that their mother would be pleased that I have made a friend. I hope she would be glad that that friend has turned out to be rather more than that.”

“I hope so too,” said Bard, and he leaned up for a kiss, only briefly but hoping it conveyed what he was feeling. “I think Katy would have had something to say to me about not messing around if someone like you came on the scene.”

“Someone like me?” asked Thranduil, one eyebrow going up a bit, and Bard grinned. 

“Tall, gorgeous, infinitely kind-hearted, terrifyingly attractive - and that’s just for starters.” He brushed another kiss across Thranduil’s mouth, and was gratified to see a blush staining Thranduil’s high cheekbones. 

“Really?” Thranduil said, and Bard smiled, utterly charmed.

“You really have no idea, do you? You’re beautiful. You’re so far out of my league it isn’t even funny, and yet - here we are. I’m still getting over the shock.”

Thranduil shook his head, looking confused. “I honestly thought I would not have a chance with you,” he said. “Surely you had someone as stunning as you at home. You wouldn’t look twice at someone like me. I am - not conventional, to look at. Too tall, pale as a snowman -“

“Are you kidding me?” Bard interrupted him; he knew the sound of old wounds long buried. “If that’s what the kids at your school told you, they’re wrong. They’ve always been wrong. You’re - I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you.” He traced a finger down the side of Thranduil’s face, and Thranduil leaned into his touch, very slightly, so he opened his hand to cradle Thranduil’s jaw, and smoothed his thumb across his cheekbone. “You’re - you’re like a statue, or a painting. Honestly, I could look at you for the rest of my days.” 

Thranduil closed his eyes. “I don’t understand,” he said, “but then again, I could quite happily look at you for the rest of my days, so I will take your word for it.”

“You’d better,” said Bard, and he slid his hand round to the back of Thranduil’s neck, pulling him in for a slow, searing kiss. He couldn’t quite believe that Thranduil had no idea how beautiful he was, but on the other hand, kids could be cruel and he was not entirely surprised that Thranduil’s distinctive looks had singled him out for torment that had then stayed with him for the rest of his life, even now. Well, he would just have to make sure Thranduil learned to bury those memories, make sure he understood exactly what Bard saw in him.

“We should probably finish seeing to lunch,” Thranduil murmured after a little while, and Bard didn’t think he was imagining the reluctance in his voice.

“What’s left to do?” he asked, carefully stepping back and letting Thranduil go, otherwise he’d only be wanting to kiss him again. 

“Vegetables, and gravy,” Thranduil said. “The children prepared the vegetables yesterday, and they are in the fridge. The gravy is last, and I will make it while the turkey rests.”

“Okay,” said Bard. “I’ll get the veggies, you get the pans.” He tore himself away from Thranduil’s side and went to investigate the fridge again; it was full of all sorts of delicious-looking things, including another bottle of champagne, but he found the vegetables quickly enough, in a stack of identical plastic boxes. The sprouts appeared to have bacon in with them, and he carried the boxes over to Thranduil with a grin. “Have you found a way to make sprouts nice?” he asked, and Thranduil laughed.

“Pan fry them with bacon, garlic and honey,” he said. “No boiling.”

“I might have to pass that on to my mam,” said Bard. “She always boils them, and nobody likes them like that. I mean, I don’t mind them, but they’re not the best. Your way sounds much better.”

“You will see,” said Thranduil, and he set to tipping the contents of the various boxes into pans. Bard stood back a little, leaning against the table, and watched him work; he could see, now, why Thranduil had tied his hair back. He rather wanted to take it all out of the braid and sift the length of it through his fingers, lovely as it was, but that could wait.

After a minute or two the sound of footsteps echoed in the corridor, and Legolas put his head through the doorway. “We’re all done, Papa,” he said, “is there anything you need us to do?”

“Dishing up in five minutes,” said Thranduil. “The table is already laid in the dining room, isn’t it?”

“Did it last night,” Legolas said cheerfully. “Crackers and napkins and everything. Wait till you see it, Bard, we might have gone a bit over the top.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” said Bard with a grin. “I take it you and Tauriel were responsible for the decorations as well?”

Legolas grinned right back. “We thought we’d make a bit of an effort, since you were all coming to stay. I’ll get the serving dishes, Papa.” And he was gone again in a flurry of flaxen hair, the bell on the end of his Santa hat jingling merrily. 

Bard looked at Thranduil, who was trying to suppress a smile. “I think the kids are up to something,” he said, and Thranduil’s smile broke through.

“You are not the only one. They are all far too innocent-looking.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. I mean, I’m not complaining -“ he flashed Thranduil a grin, “but I do feel rather as though they’ve been pulling our strings behind the scenes.”

“And if they had not, would we have been here now?” asked Thranduil as he took the turkey out of the oven and transferred it to a large plate that had been waiting on the countertop. He took the cooking tray back to the range and began making the gravy in it. “Or would I still be ordering bottles of wine I am not sure I will ever drink, in hopes of catching a glimpse of you from my window?”

Bard gave him a sheepish smile, still somewhat overwhelmed that Thranduil had been making repeat orders just to get him to keep coming back. “Good point. Can I do anything to help, by the way?”

Thranduil shook his head. “Now the children are back from their tour, I think it would be as well if they had a little supervision; besides, I am not sure I want to give them the satisfaction of allowing them to catch us in another kiss.” 

Bard laughed. “All right. Do you want us in the dining room?”

“Yes,” said Thranduil. “Legolas and I will bring the food in - but would you mind taking the bottle of champagne out of the fridge? There’s an ice bucket in the cupboard next to the fridge, and ice in the freezer under the countertop.”

Legolas came back at that moment with a pile of serving dishes in his arms, so Bard had to forgo the kiss he’d been planning on giving Thranduil and concentrate on finding the ice bucket and the ice and sticking the champagne bottle into it. 

“I’ll take this out,” he said. “Which door is the dining room?”

“All the way back into the hall, then second door on the left,” said Thranduil.

“You can’t miss it,” said Legolas, “Tauriel’s in there with Sigrid, Bain and Tilda.”

“Will you send Tauriel back here, please?” said Thranduil. “I need her to fetch through the drinks for the children.”

“All right,” said Bard, and off he went, carrying the champagne carefully in its ice bucket, steadfastly refusing to think about how thoroughly weird this day was turning out to be.

Tauriel ran off obediently when he told her that her father wanted her in the kitchen, leaving him alone with his own three. 

“How are you getting on?” he asked them, and Tilda bounced up to hug him round the waist.

“Oh, Da, it’s so funny, everywhere is all under sheets but it’s just like the houses we used to go to with the pictures of people in funny dresses and curly furniture and things! But Tauriel and Legolas’s bedrooms are really normal, just like ours only bigger.”

“Are they, now,” said Bard, and Bain chipped in.

“They really are. Legolas has a big TV and a Playstation 4, but otherwise it’s really normal.”

“It’s a beautiful house, Da,” said Sigrid, “but it’s not really all that showy. I think they really only use the rooms and the stuff that they need. Tauriel said they usually eat in the kitchen, we’re only in here because it’s Christmas.”

Bard cast his gaze around the room, at the grand, long table groaning with silverware and sprigs of holly and ivy, silver candlesticks and beautiful china plates, crystal glasses and more silver cutlery than he thought he’d ever seen in one place in his life. But there were only places set at one end of the table, for the seven of them, and the rest of the table was taken up with decorations, some very tasteful and some more of an explosion of glitter; Legolas clearly had not been joking when he had said he and his sister had gone a little overboard. There were spaces in the middle for all the serving dishes, between the place settings, and each plate had a cracker next to it. 

“Well, it’s certainly very lovely,” he said, a little weakly.

“It’s beautiful!” said Tilda. “I’m glad Tauriel and Legolas’s Da invited us!”

“So am I, kitten,” said Bard, and it was the truth. “We couldn’t have had a Christmas like this at home.”

“It isn’t better, Da,” said Sigrid. “It’s just different, that’s all. And a lot of the fancy stuff is only because it’s Christmas. They’re really very normal.”

Bard gave her a look. “An accident of birth, their Da said.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” said Sigrid. “You either trade on it, take advantage of it, or you don’t, and they don’t. All of this -“ she gestured round at the room, the lavishly decorated table, “is only because they’ve got it and they might as well use it for special occasions. It all belonged to their great-grandparents and further back.”

“I suppose,” said Bard; Thranduil seemed very normal, all things considered, for someone with the face and bearing of a supermodel, a stately home, a title and a fortune. Maybe it wasn’t those things that mattered, he thought, maybe it was the person underneath it all. And that person - he knew he was very, very close to falling completely, irretrievably in love with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas lunch is a success, Thranduil makes a wish, and later he and Bard start to talk a little bit about the future.

Thranduil sent Tauriel back to the dining room with the bottles of lemonade, orange juice, cranberry juice and apple juice, and when she reappeared he and Legolas were more or less ready to take the various serving dishes through. 

“Tauriel - vegetables, please. Legolas, potatoes, and come back for the gravy and the cranberry sauce. I will bring the turkey,” he said, and when the children had left with their respective burdens, he took the opportunity to check his clothes. No spills - good. He had not quite been able to bear the idea of wearing an apron in front of Bard, and he had accepted the risks, but apparently he had not needed to worry. As long as he could manage to take the turkey in to the dining room without mishap. He had arranged the sausages and stuffing around it on the giant Victorian serving plate, and he hoped they were all securely settled, in no danger of falling off halfway along the corridor.

He paused for a moment before he picked up the plate, wanting to compose himself. Bard’s words had touched him, had soothed a place inside him that he had not realised was still hurting. He had never been particularly happy with his appearance, ever since his school days - he was not sure how Bard had worked out that was where it stemmed from, but he was right - and as he had grown up he had settled into his strangeness, his oddness, his difference - or he had thought he had. But he had never imagined that someone like Bard would look twice at him. He was not sure what Bard saw in him, but he thought he would have to learn to trust that Bard meant what he said.

And then he took a deep breath and picked up the serving plate and carried it along the corridor to the dining room. He passed Legolas on the way, going back for the gravy, and his son gave him an encouraging smile. 

“They’ll love it, Papa,” he said. “It’s perfect, all of it.”

Thranduil nodded and smiled faintly, not sure what to say to that, and Legolas grinned and went on his way. Thranduil continued along the corridor, moving carefully, and when he entered the dining room Bard immediately came to offer his help.

“Do you want a hand with that?” he asked, and Thranduil shook his head.

“I am fine - thank you. I just need to get it to that last clear place on the table.” He made his way over and carefully set the plate down beside the place setting at the head of the table, breathing a quiet sigh of relief that he had made it without mishap.

Tauriel was encouraging the children into seats as Legolas came back in with the gravy boat and the dish of cranberry sauce, and Thranduil was somewhat entertained to see that she had engineered it so that the chair to Thranduil’s right hand was left free for Bard, while Legolas sat furthest from the head of the table. They were definitely pulling strings, he knew, and at some point he would probably have to find out how much of this was due to their interference; but he could not bring himself to regret it or resent it. They had brought him something that had a chance of being a joy greater than any he had known in a long, long time.

Bard flashed him a grin as he took his seat, and Thranduil smiled back, knowing that Bard had noticed the same thing.

Lunch went well; Thranduil thought that Legolas had been very close when he had said it would be perfect. Everyone ate plenty and declared the food good, Thranduil, Bard and Legolas had more champagne, although Tauriel and Sigrid chose apple juice and Bain and Tilda both decided to try cranberry juice - and when they pulled the crackers, Thranduil was gratified to see that the novelties inside were not too horribly tacky. Everyone wore the paper crowns that came with the crackers, Legolas happily placing his over his Santa hat, and everyone told the terrible jokes from the crackers with enthusiasm, all groaning at the punchlines. Eventually Legolas and Tauriel went back to the kitchen to fetch the Christmas pudding from where it had been steaming on the range, and the mince pies from the warming cupboard. They paused outside the room, and when they came in, the pudding was burning with a bright, blue flame that told Thranduil they had put rather more brandy on it than he had quite anticipated.

Everyone drew in a breath, and Tilda clapped her hands and squealed with excitement; Legolas laughed as he set the pudding down by his plate. 

“Shall we light it again, Tilda?” he asked, and Tilda giggled. 

“Oh, yes please! It’s so pretty!”

“Papa?” asked Legolas, although Thranduil couldn’t help feeling that it was already a fait-accompli at this point.

“Given that all the alcohol burns off, I don’t see why not,” he said, glancing at Bard, who was nodding and looking thoroughly amused.

“Brilliant,” said Legolas. “Chuck us the brandy, T.”

Thranduil was about to ask Tauriel not to actually throw the brandy bottle, but she leaned over the table to hand it to her brother, and he poured a capful and a bit more over the pudding and then produced a box of matches from his pocket, striking one and setting it to the pudding. It caught fire again, the alcohol burning away in blue and gold, and Tilda made a soft squeaking sound as she watched it, looking utterly entranced.

Once the flames had gone out, Legolas sliced up the pudding and handed it round, and Tauriel sent a jug of cream round after it.

“Be careful,” she said, “we do the thing where you put a silver sixpence in it and whoever finds the sixpence has to make a wish. So nobody break your teeth on it!”

“A sixpence?” said Sigrid. “I’ve never seen one of those.” 

Legolas grinned. “A real sixpence,” he said. “We’ve saved it in the family since at least my grandparents’ time, maybe before. It goes in the Christmas pudding, and that’s all it gets used for. The rest of the year it sits in the cutlery drawer.”

“It’s a George V sixpence, and the date on it is 1932,” said Thranduil. “I don’t know if that was when we started using it, or if it was later, but it’s certainly old. And yes, everybody be careful.”

He was taking a spoonful of the pudding in his bowl when the spoon hit something metallic, and he poked at it carefully and then picked it up in the spoon. 

“Oh,” said Tauriel, “Papa, do you have the sixpence?”

“It looks as though I do,” said Thranduil, and he saw Tauriel and Sigrid exchange a glance across the table. 

“Then you have to make a wish,” said Tauriel, “and don’t tell anyone what it is or it won’t come true.”

Thranduil smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of telling you,” he said, “even if I were allowed to,” and Tauriel stuck her tongue out at him. He chuckled softly, and closed his eyes for a moment, pretending to think, although he already knew exactly what his wish would be. A chance to find out what this would become, between himself and Bard; that it would be something good, something long-term, something permanent. 

“I know you can’t tell me what you wished for,” said Bard later, when they were back on the sofa in the living room, each with a glass of good red wine; the children had gone upstairs to play some adventure game on Legolas’ console, and the two of them were blissfully alone until teatime. “But if it’s anything I can help with, I hope you know I will.”

“Thank you,” said Thranduil, smiling contentedly. “I hope you’ll have plenty of opportunities to.”

“Me too,” said Bard, and he shifted a little closer, tentatively putting an arm around Thranduil’s shoulders; Thranduil settled against him with a contented sigh, and Bard laid a soft kiss on his hair. “Thank you for today,” he murmured, and Thranduil smiled.

“You are most welcome,” he said. “Thank you for coming. You’ve given us the excuse to make a proper effort, which we haven’t done for years.” Since Anna was here, he thought, but he didn’t say it. “I hope the children are enjoying themselves.”

“They’re completely enchanted,” said Bard. “They’ll be talking about this for years.”

“Is it too forward of me to hope that this might be the first of many events we might share together?” Thranduil said quietly, and Bard tightened his arm around Thranduil’s shoulders.

“I would love that,” he said, just as quietly. “I know it’s - it’s fast, we’ve only known each other a couple of weeks, we barely know each other, there are loads of things we need to talk about, things we need to consider, and I think there are - other things that we ought to take slowly.” He kissed Thranduil’s hair again. “But I really, really want to - to be with you.”

“I think we know enough about each other to know that this is not a fleeting thing, between us,” said Thranduil, sitting up a little so that he could look Bard in the face. “I think it is safe to say that it is worth at least trying. We can talk about everything we need to, we can work out the details, later. For now, I think it’s enough to know that we like each other, a lot, and we want to see where this will go.” He smoothed a strand of Bard’s hair out of his face - he liked that he’d left it loose, today, it framed his face and fell into his eyes in a way that made Thranduil want to run his fingers through it all the time - and then leaned in and kissed him, very softly, lips slightly parted and tongue darting out to nudge against Bard’s, sending shivers running through him again.

“You’re right,” said Bard a little breathlessly when they broke apart. “I do tend to overthink things, I worry, I overanalyse. I didn’t used to be like this.”

“You’ve had a series of traumatic experiences,” said Thranduil gently. “I’m not surprised you’re braced against the possibility of another one. But I promise you, you’re safe here, with me.”

“I can’t remember what that feels like,” said Bard, taking a sip of his wine and twisting the glass between his fingers. “I feel like I’ve been on the edge of falling apart for so long, only I can’t, because the kids need me. It’s just been one thing after another.”

“You haven’t had anyone to share the load with you,” said Thranduil. “But I will help you in any way I can. I don’t want to insult you or complicate things, but if I can give you any practical help at all, whether it’s keeping my ears open for opportunities for you, or helping to look after the children, or whatever you need, you need only say the word.”

“Thank you,” said Bard. “I’ll - I’ll think about it. And if there’s anything I can do for you - not that I’ve got much to offer - I’ll do it.”

Thranduil nodded. “To have someone I can share my own life with would be everything I could ask for. Our circumstances are not equal at the moment, but there are more ways than one to be equal in a relationship. Obviously money is an issue, but - I don’t want it to get in the way.”

“I’ll do my best,” Bard said. “And - honestly, if you can put a word in for me with anyone who needs advice about the stuff in their houses, or if you can keep an eye on the kids sometimes, even that would make things so much easier for me.”

Thranduil nodded, and smoothed another lock of hair out of Bard’s eyes. “And I will be here, when you need to talk. If you sometimes want to come here, when the children are here, when you finish your shift, and sit with me for a while, and let me - I don’t know, rub your shoulders or brush your hair or whatever you need to relax, I will be here.”

Bard sighed, and turned to rest his forehead against Thranduil’s. “I would love that,” he said. “I feel like I’ve known you for ever already.”

“I feel it too,” said Thranduil. “Now - come here, let me hold you, and we’ll sit and drink our wine until the children come down for tea.”

“That sounds perfect,” said Bard, and he let Thranduil pull him back to lean against him, settling back with his head on Thranduil’s shoulder, and they sat quietly, breathing each other in and slowly working their way down their wine glasses, to the soft crackling of the fire and the faint sound of each other’s heartbeats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids have planned something very lovely for their dads at teatime, and the dads make a fairly important decision, and have a small amount of the significant conversation they're going to have to have.

_WhatsApp group chat ‘Operation Oblivious Dads’, Christmas Day_

**Fíli Dude-rinson:** hey how’s it going? how’re your dads?

 **Kíli McKíliface:** apart from objectively hot. not that i’d know obviously.

 **Sigrid:** 🙄 of course you wouldn’t.

 **Sigrid:** They’re fine. Sickeningly adorable. I think we can safely say our plan worked better than any of us could have anticipated.

 **TaurielG:** honestly, if they’re not married within the year I’ll eat my hat.

 **legs11:** you haven’t got a hat, T. 

**TaurielG:** fine, I’ll eat my riding helmet.

 **Fíli Dude-rinson:** so they’re getting on all right then?

 **thebainofyourlife:** famously. they’re on the sofa in the living room. we’re all upstairs pretending to play playstation in legses room but we’re really just all texting you two

 **Sigrid:** They’re almost certainly gazing into each other’s eyes, they were pretty much doing that exact thing all morning and all through lunch. Couldn’t keep their eyes off each other.

 **Kíli McKíliface:** awwwwwww 😍

 **thebainofyourlife:** you wouldn’t be doing that if you’d had to sit through lunch with them doing it.

 **legs11:** ah come on, B, it’s not that bad. it’s nice to see papa looking happy for a change.

 **thebainofyourlife:** i guess. it’s good to see da smiling for once.

 **legs11:** exactly. i hope they work it out, i’d like for papa to have people around him when t and i aren’t here. and i’d particularly like it to be you lot.

 **Sigrid:** was that easier to say via text than out loud? 😂

 **legs11:** i’ll say it out loud too but i thought fíli and kíli should know as well. honestly the more the merrier around here, it’s stupidly empty with just us. anyway you lot are nice and your dad’s nice and papa clearly likes him an awful lot so i think it’s cool.

 **TaurielG:** hey it’s nearly teatime guys, we’ve got things to sort out! sorry Fíli and Kíli, talk to you later!

 **Fíli Dude-rinson:** no worries, talk to you later! glad it’s all gone so well!

 **Kíli McKíliface:** yeah talk to you later! sounds like you’ve all acquired an extra dad so congrats 😁🎉

 **Sigrid:** We’ll see…but I’m hopeful. 😊  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Bard heard footsteps on the stairs, and he sat up, easing away from Thranduil, just a little, but the footsteps continued past the door and on down the corridor, and he glanced at Thranduil, confused. 

“What are they up to now?” he asked, mostly rhetorically, and Thranduil shrugged, smiling.

“Who knows,” he said. “As long as they don’t set the house on fire, or bring it down around our ears, I don’t think I mind too much.” He smoothed a hand over Bard’s hair, and Bard closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into Thranduil’s touch. 

Soon enough, though, the footsteps returned, though fewer of them this time, and in a moment Tauriel and Sigrid came into the room, pink-cheeked and smiling and wearing their coats. 

“Will you come with us, please,” said Tauriel, and Sigrid grinned at them. 

“Put your coats and shoes on,” she said. “We’re going outside. Da, your stuff’s in the boot room.”

Bard glanced at Thranduil and shrugged. “Best do as we’re told, then,” he said, and they followed the girls back down the corridor towards the kitchen. There was a distinct aroma of spices in the air, and a few splashes of something that looked rather like red wine on the stovetop, but they didn’t get chance to inspect them as the girls were hustling them further, through a door in the corner of the room and into what Bard immediately understood must be the boot room. There was a row of pegs on the walls with coats hanging from them - including Bard’s - and a long shoe rack on the floor beneath the coats, with wellington boots and trainers and outdoor shoes all lined up neatly - again including Bard’s. 

“Come on,” said Sigrid, “you don’t want it to get cold,” and Bard looked at her, eyebrows raised.

“What don’t we want to get cold?” he asked, and she grinned. 

“You’ll see. Coat and shoes.”

Bard rolled his eyes, but he obediently pulled on his boots - the kids had polished them for him, for which he was devoutly thankful because they had been horribly scuffed. Then he put his coat on, and glanced at Thranduil, who was already ready, a pair of slightly muddy walking boots on his feet, and a green waxed jacket shrugged around his shoulders. 

“Put it on properly, Papa,” said Tauriel, “we’re going to be out there a little while.”

“What are you up to?” Thranduil asked, putting his arms properly into the coat, and taking a scarf from one of the pegs and wrapping it around his neck; Bard thought he should go back and get the scarf he had received as a present, but before he could do it, Sigrid was pressing it into his hands. It was soft and fluffy and he knew it would be incredibly warm. He put it on, smiling to himself, and then Tauriel and Sigrid opened the door and a gust of chilly air blew in.

“Come on,” said Tauriel. “We’re in the kitchen garden.”

And so out they went, along a little path between the house and some outhouses, and then through a gate, and into - it was dark, and Bard couldn’t see, but then someone, he thought it was Bain, gave a little whoop, and all of a sudden hundreds of fairy lights lit up and Tauriel’s mention of ‘the kitchen garden’ suddenly made sense. They were in a walled garden, with low clipped hedges and benches and trees trained along the walls, fairy lights in gold and white draped everywhere, and a wooden table and some chairs - and Legolas, Bain and Tilda were over by the table, presiding over two steaming pans, a big plate with what looked like Bard’s medieval mince pies, and a collection of mugs. 

“We thought we’d make a start on tea outside,” said Legolas, grinning broadly. “Seeing as Tauriel and I did a bit of decorating out here as well.”

“You certainly did,” said Thranduil. “It’s beautiful.”

“It really is,” said Bard. “You’ve done an amazing job with the decorations, you two.”

“We couldn’t resist it,” said Tauriel. “And once we got started digging everything out of the attics, we started getting other ideas, and then…well, this sort of happened. We thought it’d be nice to get you out here after sunset - you do so much for all of us, both of you, and we wanted to do something nice for you.”

“You’ve done that all right,” said Bard, with feeling, and he hoped the kids understood he didn’t just mean the decorations, and this, out here.

What do you have here?” asked Thranduil, moving over to investigate the table, and Bain flashed him a grin. 

“Mulled wine for anyone who thinks they’re grown-up enough, mulled apple juice for everyone else, and Da’s medieval mince pies for everyone. They’re awesome. They’re like pork pies, but they’ve got fruit and spices in them too.”

“In that case I must try one,” said Thranduil. 

“You must!” said Tilda. “They’re yummy!” She picked one up and thrust it at him, and Bard smiled to himself as Thranduil took it from her as graciously as if she had been a lady at some posh function or other. 

“Thank you,” he said, and he took a bite; Bard absolutely wasn’t holding his breath, but when Thranduil smiled, he let out a tiny sigh of relief. “This is delicious,” Thranduil said. “Medieval, you say?”

Bard grinned, taking a pie for himself. “This is where mince pies started. The fruit and spices were expensive so they were only made for special occasions, and Christmas was the most special of occasions.”

“That’s fascinating,” said Thranduil, and he sounded as though he meant it. “What else can you tell us about Christmas in the past?”

Bard laughed. “Don’t get me started, I’ll never stop,” he said. “We used to do all sorts of Christmas-themed stuff at the museum every year, to get the visitors in. Thankfully one of the outreach guys was happy to dress up as Santa, so I never had to do it.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow, but to Bard’s relief, did not comment on the Santa thing. “I suppose mulled wine has the same origins,” he said, “with the expensive spices. Bain, might I trouble you for a mug of mulled wine for myself, and another for your father?”

“Coming right up!” grinned Bain, ladling some of the contents of one of the pans into two of the mugs and handing them to Thranduil; Thranduil passed one to Bard, and Bard inhaled the steam rising from the hot, dark liquid; there were bits of cinnamon and anise and dried orange floating in it and it smelled absolutely divine. 

“Thank you,” he said. “Is this what you lot were doing after you came downstairs?”

“We didn’t think you’d notice,” said Sigrid, ladling herself out some mulled apple juice. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Bard asked, but he was smiling, and Sigrid shrugged. 

“Well, you were busy talking,” she said, and the tone of voice she gave the word ‘talking’ made it clear that she knew that wasn’t all they’d been doing. “So we went and sorted the wine - well, Legs did the wine and Tauriel did the apple juice, and Bain and Til put the pies on the plate and I got the mugs, and then we brought it all out here, and then we came to get you.”

“And here we are,” said Tauriel. “We probably don’t want to be out here too long, it’s cold, but the Christmas cake is inside, so we thought we could have that in front of the fire and warm up in a bit.”

“You really have planned everything, haven’t you?” said Thranduil, sounding distinctly amused, and Bard thought he saw Tauriel blush a little, although it was hard to tell with just the light from the fairy lights. 

“You do so much for us, Papa,” she said softly. “Especially me. And Bard does so much for Sigrid and Bain and Tilda. Like I said, we wanted to do something for you.”

“It’s wonderful,” said Thranduil, drawing her into a hug and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, all of you,” said Bard. “It _is_ wonderful. Even if we might have to have a word with you at some point about some of your planning.” He grinned, and Sigrid rolled her eyes at him. 

“Do not tell me you’re complaining, either of you,” she said. 

“I’m not complaining at all,” said Bard. “Just -“ he shrugged, he couldn’t quite find the words for what he was feeling. Embarrassed wasn’t right, nor was awkward - well, it was, but not for this precise moment - and flustered came under the same heading. 

“Don’t worry, Da,” said Sigrid. “I know.” She nudged him in the ribs, and wandered off to talk to Tauriel. That was something else Bard was going to have to talk to her about at some point, but for now all seemed well and both girls looked overwhelmingly happy, which did his heart good to see. He hoped Katy knew about it, wherever she was.

“We have been comprehensively outmanoeuvred,” said Thranduil quietly in his ear, and Bard smiled. 

“You can say that again,” he said. “On the other hand, I don’t think I mind, because there’s you, and there’s this, and -“ he took a sip from his mug, “your kids really know how to mull wine. This is all wonderful.” He sighed. “This has been the most amazing day. I can’t thank you enough.”

“I must thank you, too,” said Thranduil. “For agreeing to come here, today, and to bring your children. I have not had a Christmas as wonderful as this in a very long time.”

“Me either,” said Bard. “We do our best, me and the kids, but it’s been - a bit thin, a bit grey, since Katy died.”

“I know,” Thranduil murmured. “It has been the same for us, since Anna left us.”

“It’s been a rough few years, hasn’t it?” said Bard after a moment, deciding that since the kids apparently not only knew how they felt about each other, but had known it before they themselves had, and had engineered it so that they would realise, he might as well risk resting his forehead against Thranduil’s shoulder. “Hopefully things will start looking up from here on in.”

“I hope they will,” said Thranduil. “I know they will.” He turned his head and pressed a fleeting kiss to Bard’s hair, and Bard smiled; the kids were all distracted by the fairy lights and the hot apple juice and the pies, and not a one of them noticed.

Later, after they had finished the mulled wine and the pies and gone back inside for slices of the most wonderful Christmas cake, with thick royal icing and a layer of marzipan, the children went back upstairs, under strict instructions not to stay up all night, especially Tilda, and Bard and Thranduil went to settle back on the sofa in the living room again. Thranduil poured them each a glass of port, and Bard drew his feet up and curled into Thranduil’s arms, leaning against his chest, and he drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long, contented sigh. 

“Where did you come from?” he murmured after a while. “Don’t answer that, I know where. Just - of all the things I thought might happen this year, this wasn’t even anywhere on the list. It never even occurred to me.”

“Nor to me,” said Thranduil. “But I won’t question it.”

“Me either.” Bard took the end of Thranduil’s braid between his fingers, twisting it gently. “I meant what I said, earlier, by the way. About taking - well, things - slowly. Physically, I mean.” He grinned sheepishly. “I don’t particularly want to, but I think we should.”

“It would probably be wise,” said Thranduil. “Not that I particularly want to, either, but we have more things to consider than ourselves.”

“Not least the kids,” said Bard. “And - oh, all sorts of things. We need to have a proper long conversation about all of it. Not tonight though.”

“Not tonight,” said Thranduil. He chuckled softly. “Although, having established that we should not be leaping into bed with each other - I find that I would really like to fall asleep with you, tonight, and wake up with you in the morning.”

Bard’s heart caught in his throat, and he shifted so that he could look Thranduil in the eyes. “I’d really like that,” he said, quietly but urgently. “I don’t know when I last - actually, I do. It was - it was five years, seven months, ten days and about thirteen hours ago. Because after that, Katy -“ He broke off, closing his eyes for a moment. 

“I don’t remember when the last time was,” murmured Thranduil. “Anna was in hospital for a long time, and then a hospice. I slept in a chair by her bedside. We wanted to bring her home, for her last days, but she - she went downhill quicker than we expected. And then she was gone.”

Bard rested his forehead against Thranduil’s, breathing deeply. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “This is going to be one of the things we have to talk about, I think. But - I don’t expect you to forget Anna, because I can’t forget Katy. They’re - they’re always going to be with us.”

“They are,” said Thranduil, “and it is such a relief that you understand.”

“I couldn’t do anything but understand,” said Bard. “I’m just so glad that you do.”

“I’m sure we’ll have to talk about it,” said Thranduil, tilting his head a little so that he could brush a fleeting kiss across Bard’s lips. “But for now, I think we’ve reached an understanding.”

“I think we have,” said Bard. “And for the record, I would like nothing more than to fall asleep with you, later.”

“Good,” said Thranduil. “But first, perhaps another glass of port?”

“Getting me drunk, are you?” Bard grinned and kissed Thranduil again. “Don’t worry, I’m completely on board with that. You have excellent taste in drinks.”

Thranduil laughed softly. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Sometimes I like to go down to the cellar and just pick a bottle and see what it turns out like. Some of it is valuable, I am told, but that’s never really mattered all that much to me. I would rather make up my own mind about whether I like something, rather than go by what some expert or other thinks of it.”

“That’s a good way of looking at things,” said Bard, and he kissed Thranduil very soundly and then finished his port. 

“It has served me well so far,” said Thranduil, and he took Bard’s glass and took it along with his own over to the drinks cabinet, where he poured them each another generous measure. Bard watched him every step of the way, his understated, graceful way of moving, his tall, elegant frame, his beautiful face and his glorious hair. He still didn’t quite understand how this had happened, but he absolutely wasn’t going to question it. This felt like - like the first piece of good luck he had stumbled across in longer than he could remember, and he was going to hang onto it with both hands for as long as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, this is a T-rated story cos all those Xmas movies are G/PG-rated, they had to be sensible here. There will be a higher-rated epilogue I promise, once they're properly past being sensible with each other. XDDD
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil establish another couple of things, check on the kids, almost tour the house, and...go to bed. In pyjamas. Sensibly. :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm up early on Christmas morning (too excited to read my festive exchange gifts! which can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28301280) (note the pairing tag, in case that's not your thing) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27949601) (quite possibly one for anyone who likes Empty Vessel XD ) and they are both wonderful) so here, have a new chapter! I'm going to post another one later today, and then the final one winding up on Boxing Day. Then...a couple of days' break and then perhaps the smutty epilogue XDDD
> 
> Whatever you celebrate, or don't, I hope you have a wonderful day, and thank you all for your support and comments and kudos and friendship and love. My year has been immeasurably better because of all of you. <33333333

At about nine o’clock, Bard shifted in Thranduil’s arms. “I should go and check on Tilda,” he said, “make sure she’s in bed all right.” He grinned a little sheepishly. “And I’m sorry to make you move, but I don’t know where I’m going.”

Thranduil laughed, and kissed him softly. “Not to worry. I’ll gladly show you the way. The children have the south wing more or less to themselves, so we gave Sigrid and Tilda a room next to Tauriel’s, and Bain is opposite Legolas’ room. Meanwhile, my bedroom is in the middle of the west wing, which is the main wing - it’s above the front door - and we were going to put you in the guest room closest to the children’s wing, but -“ he paused, and smiled, “I am beginning to think that won’t be necessary.”

“Not if you’re still up for falling asleep together,” said Bard, looking a little shy, “whether that’s down here or - in your room.”

Thranduil’s heart turned over at the tiny hesitation in Bard’s voice, and he leaned in to kiss him again. “I think my room would be preferable,” he said. “I promise you that my bed is more comfortable than this sofa.”

“I don’t know,” said Bard, “this sofa’s pretty comfortable.” He grinned. “But yeah, if we’re taking things slowly, we probably ought to do them conventionally as well. So - bed first, before we try sleeping on the sofa. Or anything else.” He kissed Thranduil again, darting his tongue into his mouth, and then sat up properly, leaning over to place his port glass on the side table at the end of the sofa. “And before any of that, I have to go and make sure my youngest isn’t either still living it up with the others, or freaking out because she’s in a strange bed.”

“Of course,” said Thranduil, setting his own glass aside and getting to his feet, extending a hand to help Bard up; it had not escaped his notice how tired Bard still was. “Perhaps it is almost time we went to sleep, too.”

“In a bit,” Bard said. “I love my kids dearly, but I have to admit I’m rather enjoying the peace and quiet - and the company.”

“I have had rather too much peace and quiet for a long time,” said Thranduil, “but I am certainly enjoying the company. Come on, let’s go and make sure all the children are settled and behaving themselves, and then perhaps I should give you the tour, although it’s not as easy to see everything after dark.”

“I don’t mind,” said Bard. “It’s nice in here with the lights on, I guess it’s the same everywhere else. Besides, if I can’t see everything it’ll be easier not to freak out.” He was smiling, but Thranduil could see the brittle edges of it, and he pulled Bard into a loose embrace for a moment.

“Don’t freak out,” he said. “All of it is just - just stuff, as the children would probably say, and that I have any of it at all is an accident of birth.”

“Keep saying that,” Bard said. “Eventually it’ll make it through.”

“I hope so,” said Thranduil quietly. “I would hate for all of that to drive you away from me.”

“Me too,” said Bard. “I’m being ridiculous, I know, it’s just - I’ve got absolutely bugger all, except the kids, and whatever stuff Katy and I managed to accumulate. I’ve got nothing to offer you.”

“You have everything to offer me,” said Thranduil, his voice low and urgent, he wanted to resolve this now if he could. “Everything that matters. Your company and companionship, your kindness and compassion, your delightful children, your gorgeous face and the way you make me feel when you kiss me, the way I hope - I know - you will make me feel when we - when we have progressed a little further. All of that and so much more. I don’t care about material things. I just want you.” There, he had said it, and if it freaked Bard out, if the intensity of his feelings frightened him away, at least it was out in the open between them.

“It’s easy not to care about material things when you don’t need them,” said Bard very quietly, and then he shook his head and stepped back a little so that he could look Thranduil in the face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, it wasn’t fair. But -“

“But it’s probably good that you said it now,” said Thranduil. “That you got it out of the way. I know, I understand, that our lives have been very different. But none of this has been much use to me, or much joy, because I have had nobody to share it with. I want to bring you into my life, if you’ll let me, I want to share all of this with you, and with your children. I have no ulterior motive, except that I want you in my life, all four of you.”

Bard was quiet a moment, apparently thinking it over. “I want to let you, Christ knows I do. But I just - all of this feels too good to be true, I can’t help looking for the catch. And I - I’m not a gold-digger. I was brought up to pay my own way in the world.”

“There is no catch, I promise you,” said Thranduil. “And I know you’re not a gold-digger. If you were, you wouldn’t be making all this fuss.” He smiled, hoping to take the sting out of his words. “This does feel too good to be true, you’re right about that. But I am choosing to trust that it _is_ true. I’m trusting that you are as kind and compassionate - and all the other things - as you seem. And if you could see your way to trusting me, and this, you would make me happier than I’ve been in a very long time.”

“I’m going to keep needing reminding,” said Bard. “I’m sorry. I want to trust you, I really do. I just - it’s been so long since I had any properly good luck, I’ve forgotten what it feels like. And I can’t help being suspicious of it, looking for the catches.”

“If you can manage to trust me for a little while, I think it’ll get easier,” said Thranduil. “If you can begin to get used to it, and see that nothing bad will happen.”

“I hope so,” said Bard, closing his eyes. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask,” said Thranduil, kissing him softly, briefly. “And now, let’s go and make sure the children are behaving, and then I’ll give you the tour.” He picked up their glasses and topped them up, and then handed Bard’s back to him, taking Bard’s free hand in his.

They went up the stairs, and Thranduil did not mention the way Bard was looking around, wide-eyed, at the grand, curving staircase, the paintings on the walls, the furniture. It was an understandable reaction, and even more so in the light of the conversation they had just had. Thranduil only hoped that Bard could keep himself from feeling too intimidated; he tightened his fingers around Bard’s, and felt Bard squeeze his hand in reply, and he smiled to himself. 

He led Bard along the corridor, past his own room although he did not point it out just yet, and to the south wing where the children’s rooms were. Soft voices and music became audible as they turned the corner, and Thranduil saw that Legolas’ door was open and the light was on; Tauriel’s room was dark, and the door to the room they had given to Sigrid and Tilda was standing a little open, a dim light just showing behind the door.

“Tilda is in bed, I think,” Thranduil said softly, as they came to a stop in front of the slightly open door, and Bard pushed the door back and stepped inside. 

“Da?” came a soft, sleepy voice, and Thranduil went to stand in the doorway as Bard went to sit on the side of the bed where Tilda was already tucked in; Tauriel’s old nightlight was glowing softly on the bedside table that stood in between the bed Tilda was occupying and the one that had been made up for Sigrid.

“I’m here, kitten,” he said softly. “Well done for going to bed.”

“I’m tired,” said Tilda around a yawn. “The others are just playing games and talking.” She yawned again. “I had a lovely day.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,” said Bard. “Now, you get some sleep. We’re just going to drop in on the others.”

“All right,” said Tilda. She shifted a little, looking round Bard, and saw Thranduil; her face lit up in a tired smile. “Thank you for having us,” she said to him. “I’ve had a lovely time.”

“You are very welcome,” said Thranduil, smiling warmly. “So have I.”

“Good,” said Tilda. “Night night.”

“Good night,” Thranduil replied, with another smile. “Sleep well.”

“Sleep well, kitten,” Bard echoed, leaning down to give his little girl a goodnight kiss, and tucking her in a little more firmly. He smoothed a hand over her hair, and then stood, looking down at her for a moment as she closed her eyes and curled onto her side. Thranduil had already known how much Bard adored his children, but to see it as clearly as this made his heart turn over. He would be safe with Bard, he knew, as long as he could keep Bard from letting the differences in their situations overwhelm him.

Bard turned back to him after a moment, crossing the room to stand with him in the doorway for a moment. 

“She is delightful,” murmured Thranduil, “and you are a wonderful father, I can tell just from watching you with her.”

“I do my best,” said Bard softly. “I can’t help feeling like it’s not enough, though. They still need their mam.”

“Of course they do,” said Thranduil, easing back out of the doorway and moving to stand in the corridor. “But you’re doing your best to make up for her absence, as I am for Anna’s absence, with Legolas and Tauriel. I can’t hope to do everything for them, but I do my best. I think they know it, and I am sure your children know what you are doing for them.”

“I hope so,” said Bard, pulling the door to and joining Thranduil in the corridor. “I just…I worry it isn’t enough.”

“As do I,” said Thranduil. “But we do what we can, and the children understand. Now, let’s just check up on the rest of them, and then I will show you the rest of the house.” He crossed the corridor and knocked on the open door of Legolas’ room. 

“Come in, Papa,” Legolas called, and Thranduil put his head round the doorframe. Legolas and Bain were sprawled in a pair of giant beanbags on the floor in front of the TV, apparently still playing the adventure game, and Sigrid and Tauriel were both sitting cross-legged on Legolas’ bed, ostensibly watching the game, although Thranduil had the distinct impression they had not been sitting in that position before he had knocked.

“How are you all getting on?” he asked, stepping into the room and feeling Bard’s presence at his back. 

“Amazing,” said Bain, “I’ve wanted to play this game for ages and it’s so much better than I expected.”

“He’s beating me hands down,” Legolas said happily. “I thought I knew what I was doing, but apparently I have no idea.”

“We tried to play but Bain kept beating us and it wasn’t so much fun,” said Tauriel, equally happily. “So we’re just watching, and that’s far more fun.”

“We can see what’s going on more easily,” said Sigrid. “And tell them what they should be doing.”

Bain made a noise of protest, but Legolas flapped a hand at him. “It’s true. They can spot things that we can’t because we’re too busy concentrating on our characters.”

“The sooner you learn to listen to the women in your life, the better,” said Bard, a smile in his voice, and when Thranduil looked at him, he saw that he was grinning. “Don’t stay up too late, will you?”

“Breakfast is at ten,” Thranduil said. “We’ll leave you to do the maths.”

“Sleep well when you get there,” Bard said, and then they left the children alone, retracing their steps back down the corridor.

“This wing is just the children’s bedrooms and bathrooms and some guest rooms,” said Thranduil, lacing his fingers with Bard’s again. “The rooms in the west wing all have names, but we never use them. The room we gave you is here -“ he nudged the door open as they passed it, “and officially it is the Blue Bedroom, but what use is that to anyone? My room is the Bow Bedroom, but again, what point is that when I haven’t the faintest inclination to show off to anyone?”

Bard chuckled, and Thranduil heaved a sigh of relief, inwardly, that he seemed to be feeling all right about it. “I suppose it’s just a stately homes thing,” he said. “The National Trust places Katy and I used to take the kids to were the same.”

“If I were opening the house to the public I could see the use of keeping the names, but really, these days the only use they get is on the inventory of contents, which I have to keep up for the insurance.” 

“I suppose it helps for that sort of thing,” said Bard, a smile in his voice. “Easier than ‘third bedroom on the right from the top of the stairs’.”

“I suppose so,” said Thranduil. “It’s always just felt so pretentious. It’s why we call the living room the living room; until I inherited, it was the drawing room, but nobody withdraws to there after dinner any more. We live in it.”

“Makes sense,” said Bard. “The way you live changes, so why shouldn’t the house, and how you use it?”

“Exactly,” said Thranduil. “Do you know, the house was originally a medieval hall-house, and it just got extended over the years. The family put a bit on in the Tudor period, and another bit under the Stuarts. Most of what you see now dates from the early nineteenth century, but all the rest of it is still there, underneath. The kitchen is the most part of the medieval hall.”

“Fascinating,” said Bard, a warm smile creeping across his face. “You know, I’d love to have the tour, but I’m thinking, daylight might be better. If you don’t mind, just now all I want is to get into bed and - and fall asleep with you.”

Thranduil smiled. “I would like nothing more,” he said. “Let’s just get your overnight bag; the children will have put it in the guest room for you.”

“Probably best if I have my pyjamas,” Bard said with a slightly sheepish grin. “Otherwise taking things slowly might not actually happen.”

Thranduil laughed, ducking into the guest bedroom and fetching the overnight bag, which the children had left by the bed. “We had better take every precaution,” he said, handing the bag to Bard and leaning in for a kiss. 

“Well, exactly,” said Bard, and then, looking a little uncomfortable, “and we probably ought to get, you know, health checks. Tests, and stuff.”

Thranduil nodded. “Of course. I don’t think there’s any possibility that I may have anything, and I am sure it’s unlikely that you do. But we owe it to each other to be sure.”

“It’s pretty unlikely,” said Bard. “But - we do owe it to each other.”

“Would it make it easier for you if I made appointments with my doctor?” Thranduil asked, a little tentatively. “I’m sure you haven’t time to spend half a day sitting in a clinic waiting to be seen.”

Bard thought about it for a moment, and then huffed out a soft laugh. “You know, this is one of those things - I don’t like the idea of paying to bypass the NHS when so many people can’t, but - when it comes to something like this, I find I only don’t like it in theory, if that makes any sense. I - you’re right, I can’t spend half a day sitting in a clinic, and it’s halfway impossible to get an appointment within the month at my doctor’s, especially for a time I can actually make. So - yes, if you wouldn’t mind, that would be great.”

“As soon as they are open again, I will give them a call,” said Thranduil. “You just tell me when you can be available. They will see you in the evening if you need them to.”

“I suppose this makes me a giant hypocrite,” said Bard, and Thranduil shook his head. 

“Not at all. Think of it this way: you will not be taking up an appointment that someone else needs. And we will have our answers as soon as possible.” He kissed Bard again. “And now, if we are not having the tour, will you at least let me show you my room?”

“I suppose you’re right,” said Bard, resting his head against Thranduil’s forehead for a moment. “And yes, please, I would like that very much. But you have to promise not to laugh at my pyjamas.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Thranduil, as seriously as he could manage although there was a little bit of a laugh in his voice. “I am sure you will look glorious in them no matter what they look like.” He put his hand in the small of Bard’s back and gently steered him through the door of his own room, switching on the wall lights as they went in, and pushing the door gently shut behind them. 

He let Bard have a moment to look around; he himself didn’t notice the room’s splendour any more, but he thought Bard might find the painted wallpaper, the heavy velvet curtains, the curled brass light fittings, the high, wide bed, all the rest of it, a little overwhelming. He went to fetch himself a pair of pyjamas out of the chest of drawers in the small dressing room that led off the bedroom, and when he came back Bard was setting his overnight bag on the floor and crouching to rummage through it. 

“I’m kind of amazed you can sleep in here,” Bard said quietly after a moment. “So much to look at.”

Thranduil went over to sit on the bed, close to him. “I’m used to it,” he said, “I don’t really notice it any more. This was my parents’ room once. I did replace the bed, though, when I moved in here, don’t worry.” He smiled, hoping to reassure Bard a little, and was gratified to see Bard’s answering smile as he stood up again, pyjamas clutched in his hands. 

“I think that’s probably a good thing,” Bard said, a little shyly, and Thranduil reached out a hand to pull him close. 

“Now, let’s get into our pyjamas, and sit in bed to finish our port,” he said. “My bathroom is through there, if you’d rather change in there.” He pointed at a door in the corner of the room, and Bard nodded. 

“Probably best,” he said. “I’m this close to saying to hell with taking things slowly, and I think it’s really, really important that we do.”

Thranduil chuckled softly. “You’re right. All right, you go in the bathroom, I’ll go in the dressing room. I’ll see you in a moment.” He pulled back the bedcovers, and then headed back to the dressing room, where he changed quickly; he had chosen the plainest, simplest brushed-cotton pyjamas he owned, in dark blue with a tiny pinstripe. 

Making his way back into the bedroom, he saw that Bard was not there yet, and so he climbed into bed and picked up his port glass from where he had left it on the bedside table. In a moment Bard emerged from the bathroom, holding his clothes in a neatly-folded pile, and wearing a loose pair of black cotton trousers and a Motörhead t-shirt that had once been black but had been washed so many times it was now more of a charcoal grey. He looked tired and self-conscious, and so alluring that it made Thranduil’s breath catch in his throat. It was going to be very difficult to stick to their decision to take things slowly, he was realising.

He patted the mattress next to him. “Come here,” he said. 

Bard set down the pile of clothing beside his bag and slid under the covers, leaning in for a kiss and slipping his arm around Thranduil’s shoulders. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that I didn’t pick up the trousers with the Batman logo all over them,” he said, and Thranduil laughed very softly. 

“I’m sure you would have looked wonderful in them, just as you look wonderful in these,” he said. “I’m going to have a great deal of trouble keeping my hands off you.”

“Same here,” said Bard. “I don’t quite know what we were thinking.” He grinned and reached for his port glass. 

“We’ll have to set our minds to it,” said Thranduil. “I do think you’re right. This has already moved very fast, I would hate to spoil it by rushing into the rest of things.”

“Mmmm,” said Bard, “I know. It’s too important to mess up.” He kissed Thranduil again, the port sweet on his tongue, and Thranduil sighed softly, sliding his hand into Bard’s hair. 

“The pyjamas stay on,” he said, and Bard laughed. 

“The pyjamas stay on,” he said. “I promise. But - can I take your hair down?”

Thranduil smiled. “Of course. I would love you to.”

“Hold this, then,” Bard said, handing his port glass to Thranduil, and then he carefully took the elastic out of the end of Thranduil’s braid and began to unravel it, slowly, working his way up until he reached the top, where the braid began, tight against the nape of Thranduil’s neck. Thranduil shivered, biting his lip at the gentle brush of Bard’s fingers against his skin, the sensation of his hair sifting gently through Bard’s hands as he smoothed the last of the braid out through the length of it.

“I could let you do that all night,” he murmured, tipping his head forward a little, and Bard laughed softly. 

“I could quite happily do this all night,” he said. “Your hair is - it’s glorious. I’ve never seen anything quite like it. I kind of want to wrap myself up in it or something, bury my face in it and never come out again.”

Thranduil smiled, completely charmed. He had always worn his hair long, since his early teens, and it had brought him more than his fair share of torment; but Anna had loved it, and now it seemed that Bard liked it too, and that was all the validation he needed.

“I think we should finish our port, brush our teeth and settle down,” he said. “And then you can sleep under my hair all night, if you want to.”

“I’d love to,” said Bard, leaning in for another sticky, port-sweet kiss, and Thranduil closed his eyes, letting the sensations flood over him.

A little later, once they had finished their port and brushed their teeth and Thranduil had brought two glasses of water out of the bathroom for the bedside tables, he stretched out under the covers and drew Bard to him, his hand smoothing over Bard’s arm and down his back. 

“I think this may be the best Christmas I have ever had,” he murmured, and Bard smiled, reaching up to card his fingers through Thranduil’s hair and pull some of it over himself, breathing in deeply as he buried his face between Thranduil’s neck and his shoulder. 

“Same here,” he said softly. “I don’t much want to go home tomorrow, but - we’ll work something out.”

“It’s probably too soon to ask you to move in with me, isn’t it?” said Thranduil lightly, only half-joking, and Bard chuckled.

“Probably,” he said. “I think we’ll have to have that long conversation first, at the very least. We still don’t know each other all that well.”

“We have time to get to know each other,” Thranduil said. “We can work around your schedule.”

“I hope so,” said Bard. “I’m dreading going back, but - I think it’ll be easier, a little bit, if I know you’re at the other end of the phone, if I can come and see you, sometimes.”

“Always,” said Thranduil, and he meant it. “And then, when we know each other better, maybe then I’ll ask you.”

“You mean that wasn’t you asking me just now?” said Bard, looking up at him with a grin. 

“Not at all,” said Thranduil, struggling to keep a straight face. “I was asking you if it was too soon to ask you, which is another question entirely.”

“Smooth talker,” said Bard, leaning up to kiss him, and then they both dissolved into laughter. 

Thranduil thought he had laughed more today than in the previous ten years put together, even with the children’s best efforts to keep him from falling completely into despair. This was right, he knew it was; it had to be. It was only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil wake up together, tour the house and have breakfast with the kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter today! And omg, you must all go and check out [my second Secret Santa gift](https://themirkyking.tumblr.com/post/638499550453202944/happy-christmas-nocompromise-noregrets-wishing) which is Bard/Thranduil and Bardlings themed and utterly wonderful! <3333333
> 
> MERRY CHRISTMAS OR WHATEVER YOU CELEBRATE (OR DON'T) MY LOVELIES! <3333333

Bard awoke, feeling somehow more rested than he had in a long, long time. He was warm, and comfortable, and…not alone. He was tangled in a warm, comfortable mess of limbs and soft fabric and…and long, silken silver hair, and… _oh_ …he smiled to himself, of course, because he wasn’t at home, in his too-cold, too-wide, too-empty bed; he was at Greenwood Hall, in Thranduil’s bed, _with Thranduil_ , and the soft fabric was Thranduil’s impossibly stylish pinstriped pyjamas, the silver hair was Thranduil’s, the limbs tangled with his own were…he shifted a little, found a patch of bare skin and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to it, right at the base of Thranduil’s neck. 

“Mmmm,” said Thranduil softly, his eyes fluttering open, “good morning.”

“Hi,” said Bard, trailing his fingers up and down Thranduil’s arm, twining a few strands of hair around his hand. “How did you sleep?”

“Soundly,” said Thranduil, burying his face in Bard’s hair. “More soundly than I have in longer than I can remember.”

“Same here,” whispered Bard, burrowing in for another kiss to Thranduil’s neck, darting his tongue out to lick very briefly before he got a grip on himself and eased back a bit. 

“Oh,” whispered Thranduil, shifting so that he could rest his forehead against Bard’s and tilt his face up for a kiss. “I so want to tell you not to stop doing that.”

Bard closed his eyes and shivered, drawing in a rather shaky breath against Thranduil’s mouth. “I so want not to stop doing it,” he said after a moment. “But…slowly. Taking things slowly. We’re meant to be…”

“I know,” said Thranduil. “And how I hate it at this moment.”

“Me too,” said Bard, around another kiss, deep and searing. “But we have to - besides, the kids will be up soon if they’re not already…what time is it?”

Thranduil stretched out an arm (sinuously, languidly, oh _god_ ) to pick up his phone, glancing at the display. “Just before nine,” he said. “Breakfast is at ten, so we have time…”

“To wind each other up beyond reason?” Bard chuckled softly. “I don’t know if my willpower can take it.”

“Good point,” said Thranduil. “Damn it. All right, different plan. How about a coffee, and I’ll show you the house, now it’s daylight out there?”

“Deal,” said Bard. “Can I borrow your shower first?”

“By all means,” said Thranduil, “although you’d better go in there on your own or I might not be responsible for my actions.”

“Kiss first,” said Bard, sliding one hand round to the back of Thranduil’s neck and pulling him close, humming softly against his mouth. “Then shower.”

“All right,” said Thranduil, kissing him very soundly and then giving him a gentle nudge backwards. “Go on. Shower. Or we’ll be late for breakfast and the children will never let us hear the end of it.”

Bard groaned. “Very good point. All right, I’m going.” He kissed Thranduil once more for good measure and then very reluctantly rolled out of bed. He picked up his clothes and his overnight bag from the floor, and headed for the bathroom, turning back in the doorway; he instantly wished he hadn’t, because Thranduil was lying on his side watching him, propped up on his elbow, head resting on his hand and his hair falling around his face in glorious disarray, and he looked so utterly beautiful. Bard let himself stare for a moment, and then closed his eyes and made himself turn away and close the bathroom door. Cold shower. Now.

When he emerged from the bathroom, dressed in his jeans and jumper from yesterday with a long-sleeved T-shirt underneath the jumper, Thranduil was out of bed, the covers folded neatly back, and his hair was brushed and tied back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck. He still looked absolutely stunning, but Bard felt a little more able to resist him now. It really was important that they didn’t rush things, it really was, the most important thing about all of this…

“Shower’s free,” he said, setting his overnight bag down by the bed again, although he’d be having to take it downstairs, he was going to have to go home at the end of the day. He found he was already dreading having to return to his everyday life.

“I will be quick,” said Thranduil, pausing on the way past him to brush a kiss across his mouth. “And then - coffee, and a tour of the house.”

“See you in a moment,” said Bard, watching him as he disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Then he turned to look around the room; Thranduil had opened the curtains and now daylight was flooding in and it looked somehow even grander than it had last night in the dim, atmospheric light from the wall lamps. The wallpaper was hand-painted, he could see now, delicate Japanese designs with cranes and flowers, and the furniture was beautifully carved and gilded; the only modern thing in the whole room was the bed, and even that was beautifully designed, simple and elegant, so that it fitted in even though it didn’t match.

He wandered over to the huge, floor-to-ceiling windows, the central one a large, curved bow, and looked out at the magnificent view, across the gardens and the woodland and the rolling countryside beyond. It was breathtaking, and he wondered yet again what on earth he was doing here.

He hardly registered the click of the bathroom door opening, but suddenly Thranduil was there behind him, slipping his arms around him and resting his chin on Bard’s shoulder. 

“That’s a hell of a view,” Bard said after a moment, leaning back against Thranduil’s chest. 

“You will see it many more times than this, I promise,” said Thranduil, and Bard smiled, feeling a little reassured. 

“I’d like that,” he said, and then he yawned. “But…I think I could really do with that coffee, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” said Thranduil. “Come on.” He eased away from Bard and held a hand out for Bard to take as he turned around. Bard laced his fingers with Thranduil’s and glanced up and down, taking in his clothes; slim black jeans, the dark green collar of a shirt peeking out over the top of a soft-looking cream-coloured jumper. He looked - again - as though he’d stepped straight out of the pages of a fashion magazine, and Bard had to make himself stop staring, as Thranduil led him out of the room and down the stairs. 

In daylight, the staircase was even more impressive than it had been the previous night, with light streaming in from a large, domed skylight in the ceiling. The carpet was soft, ornately detailed, beginning to get a little threadbare in places, and there were huge paintings on the walls, landscapes and portraits, ‘people in funny dresses’ as Tilda had put it. The banisters were beautifully carved wood and wrought iron, and Bard couldn’t help trailing his fingers over them as they went down the stairs. The hall was wide and light, the row of pikes Thranduil had mentioned when Bard had come to pick up Sigrid standing along one wall, and he was itching to go and take a look at them, but he reasoned it could wait. This would not be the last time he would be here, he was sure of that now.

He followed Thranduil down the corridor to the kitchen, and leaned against the big table while Thranduil made coffee; and then Thranduil caught his hand again and led him off to show him the house. 

They worked their way back along the corridor - scullery, pantry, Galion’s office, through the big door into the main part of the house, and then there was Thranduil’s study, lined with books and papers, the dining room, the library, the morning room, all of them beautiful and ornate, although it was clear that the rooms that got the most use were the study and the living room. Another corridor led along the north wing, and on the other side of the morning room was - 

“Is this a ballroom?” Bard asked as Thranduil opened the door to a long, wide room, completely empty apart from some shapes under dust sheets that might have been chairs, long mirrors on the walls and ornate, gilded plasterwork.

“It is,” said Thranduil. “The last time it was used was for mine and Anna’s wedding reception. I don’t have much use for balls and dances.”

“That I can understand,” said Bard, squeezing his hand. “What else is along here?”

“A few further sitting rooms and function rooms,” said Thranduil. “None of which have been used since I was a child, or before. Everything is under dust sheets. I could probably open up this wing of the house for visitors, or functions, but I don’t need to, and I am selfish. I don’t think I could bear that level of intrusion into my life.”

“There might be other uses for it,” Bard said, “if it bothers you it all standing empty and unused. But if it doesn’t bother you, you don’t have to do a thing with it. It’s your house.”

“I suppose so,” said Thranduil. “But I am not sure - I don’t know. It seems wasteful, but at the same time I don’t want to have to deal with - with people.”

Bard chuckled. “I can understand that, all right. And you don’t have to. All of this can stay exactly as it is, you know. It’s your house.”

The sound of footsteps in the hall caught both their attention, and they turned to look along the corridor and see the children pelting down the stairs and heading for the kitchen. 

“We’d better go and oversee breakfast,” Bard said, “before the ravening hordes eat it all and leave nothing for us.”

“They will have to try hard,” said Thranduil, a laugh in his voice. “There is a lot of it, we made sure of it. We wanted you to have as many memorable experiences as possible while you are here, and this is one of them.”

“I’m intrigued,” said Bard, and they went to find out what the children were up to.

When they got to the kitchen, the kids were unloading all sorts of things out of the fridge, and Legolas was at the range, scrambling eggs, while Tauriel was stacking plates and glasses on the table from one of the cabinets.

“Morning,” said Bard, and the kids chorused, “Morning, Da!” 

“Have a seat, you two,” said Legolas. “More coffee? Orange juice?”

“What is this?” asked Thranduil, and Tauriel grinned. 

“We’re sorting breakfast for you. You did lunch yesterday. So sit down, have an orange juice -“ she poured them each a glass of orange juice and slid them across the table, “and let us take your orders. Legolas is doing eggs, there’s smoked salmon somewhere -“

“Here,” said Sigrid, scooping it out of the packaging and onto a plate with a spatula.

“Right, there, and there’s a bit of rocket in the bowl there, if you want it, and Tilda is ready to do toast if you want some.”

“Standing by!” chirped Tilda. “Although someone else is going to have to cut the bread.” She waved a delicious-looking loaf of sourdough bread at them, and Bard chuckled. 

“I would absolutely like some toast, please, Til,” said Bard. “If Bain cuts the slices.”

“Also standing by!” said Bain, and Bard shook his head, grinning to himself. His kids had always been good at helping out in the kitchen, but this was a new level of helpfulness, probably fuelled by the novelty of being in a different kitchen and having new friends to help.

“I would also like some toast, please, Tilda,” said Thranduil, taking a seat and tugging on Bard’s hand so that he sat down on the chair next to him. 

“All right,” said Tilda, and she and Bain got to work; Sigrid passed them the plate of smoked salmon, plates and forks.

“Help yourselves,” she said. “Are the eggs nearly ready?”

“Pretty much done,” said Legolas. “I take it you both want some?”

“Yes please,” said Bard, and Thranduil echoed him. 

“Coming right up, then,” said Legolas, bringing the pan over to the table and spooning some eggs onto their plates and then serving some up for the rest of them. Tauriel was making a fresh pot of coffee and she brought it over to the table, along with a large jug of orange juice; and once the toast was done, Tilda and Bain joined them and they all tucked in.

“Are we going for a walk after breakfast, Papa?” Tauriel asked, in between bites of smoked salmon and toast. 

“If everyone wants to,” said Thranduil. “We thought it might be nice to go and explore the gardens and the woodland.”

“Yes please!” said Tilda. “Da says there isn’t a playground though.”

“There isn’t, I’m afraid,” said Tauriel. “But there is a swing in the woods.”

“Oh, that’s just as good!” Tilda giggled. “I love swings.”

“I’ll push you on it, if you like,” said Legolas, and Tilda looked at him across the table like he’d hung the moon; Bard thought he might have to keep an eye on that, he was sure Legolas wouldn’t appreciate a ten-year-old having a crush on him.

“Would you?” she asked, eyes wide. “Da, can we go now?”

“Finish your breakfast first, kitten,” Bard said. “Then we can go explore the woods.”

“All right,” Tilda subsided, getting back on with her toast and eggs, and Bard smiled, his hand finding Thranduil’s under the table. Maybe they would get a chance to have some of their necessary conversation while they were walking, if the children were all otherwise occupied with swings and exploring. He did want to get at least some of it out of the way before they had to leave, to lay the ground between himself and Thranduil for embarking upon a proper relationship. 

He wasn’t sure where it had come from, all of this, how his life had turned completely around in the space of less than twenty-four hours, how he was suddenly considering getting into a relationship - not even considering it, really, it was happening and he had not even had to think about it. He wanted this, all of it, he was sure. In the course of a day he had gone from being certain he would be alone for the rest of his life, to suddenly having a - well, he wasn’t sure if ‘boyfriend’ was the right word to describe Thranduil, but it would have to do. Someone he wanted to share his life with, possibly long-term. He didn’t quite understand how it had happened, but he was absurdly, deeply grateful for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Thranduil go for a walk with the kids, and tackle some of the long and important conversation they're going to have to have. Meanwhile, it transpires that certain people are not quite as absent as we have been led to believe...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter, and a tiny epilogue in the spirit of Christmas movies... :D
> 
> Thank you everyone for the comments and kudos and for joining in with this ridiculous flight of fluff and fancy. I hope you've had a wonderful Christmas/festive season/few days and look forward to posting the epilogue/sequel once I've had a few days' break and then started writing it! See you soon. :D <333333333

Thranduil watched the children as they ate their breakfast, his fingers interlaced with Bard’s. He wasn’t particularly hungry himself, but he ate a bit of egg and a bit of salmon, scooping it onto his toast, and he drank some orange juice and some coffee. Most of all, he wanted to spin breakfast out as long as he could; he didn’t want the day to end, didn’t want Bard and his children to leave. 

He had joked about asking Bard to move in with him, but he had only been half-joking. He knew it was presumptuous of him, not to mention enormously premature; to expect that they would want to leave their life, the house they had shared with Katy, to come and live in this vast, echoing place with him. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking; only he really didn’t want to let them go.

But all too soon everyone had finished eating, and it was time to get boots and coats on and go for their traditional Boxing Day walk. It had been something Thranduil had always done with his parents, then with Anna, then with Anna and the children…and eventually just with Tauriel and Legolas. He really hoped they were beginning a new tradition this year, one they could repeat year after year. 

The children spilled out of the door of the boot room, running through the kitchen garden, and Thranduil followed them with Bard, hand-in-hand. They went through the gate in the far wall, and then along the path that led around the house, between flower beds and rose bushes and out towards the woodland, where the trees and bushes gradually became less regimented, more wild. 

“This is beautiful,” said Bard, looking around, sounding admiring. 

“My great-grandmother was a keen gardener,” said Thranduil. “A lot of this is her handiwork. I don’t really know what I’m doing with it, but there are a couple of gardeners who take care of the place for me. I’m happiest in the woods.”

“I suppose it’s a bit wilder,” said Bard. “Closer to nature, all that sort of thing.”

“It is. Although it’s carefully managed, so the wildness is mostly an illusion,”said Thranduil with a sheepish smile. “My ancestors had Capability Brown do the grounds a couple of hundred years ago, and he was all about the illusion of nature. Laid all of it out. Some of it has gone a bit naturalised over the years, like the woodland, but if you walk long enough, it does become real woods.”

“I’d love to see that,” said Bard. “I’d like - I’d like to explore all of this, just go walking out there for days.”

“You can do that, if you like,” said Thranduil. “We can do that. If you want.”

Bard smiled, and squeezed Thranduil’s hand. “I’d love that,” he said. “You know, Katy and I used to take the kids to all the National Trust places, let them go roaming round the grounds, show them the houses, just because it was interesting, and educational. Never dreamed we’d meet someone who actually lives in one, or get to know them.”

“This isn’t really up to the National Trust’s high standards,” said Thranduil, and Bard laughed softly. 

“It’s different. It’s lived-in. It’s _alive_. All of those other places, they’re like museums, like showcases. This place is your home.”

“It’s a lot less alive than it used to be,” said Thranduil. “Anna was the life of the place.”

“I think the three of you are doing a pretty good job,” said Bard. “Do you think Anna would have - approved of this, of us?” He sounded hesitant, tentative, and Thranduil thought for a moment before he replied.

“I think she would,” he said quietly. “She said to me, more than once, that I shouldn’t close myself away after she was gone. That eventually, I should find myself someone else. She knew I was at least theoretically attracted to men as well as to women. I don’t think she would have minded at all that you are a man.” He smoothed his thumb over the back of Bard’s hand. “Do you think Katy -?”

Bard chuckled softly. “Katy would be flying flags from the rooftop, I’m sure. We - obviously we never got the chance to have that sort of conversation, but I know - I knew her, and she would definitely have had something to say to me if she’d known I’d still be on my own five years after she was gone. Plus -“ he laughed again, a little sheepishly, “when I met her I sort of had a boyfriend. So she knew I was bi. And trust me, she’d be very enthusiastic about you. You’re probably even more her type than you are mine.”

Thranduil let out a slightly bewildered laugh; he had no idea what to say to that.

Bard squeezed his hand again. “Don’t worry about it. But - as long as you can handle me still missing Katy, I can handle you still missing Anna. They’re still part of our lives, they’re part of the kids’ lives, and we can’t just shuffle them out of the way because we’ve found each other.”

“I can handle that,” said Thranduil. “It’s - it’s such a relief that you understand. I think one of the reasons I haven’t met anyone - haven’t wanted to meet anyone - is that most people wouldn’t understand and I couldn’t bear to get close to someone who could not understand that Anna still has a place in my life.”

“Same here,” said Bard. “I couldn’t bear to be with someone and never be able to mention Katy, or talk about her, or remember her.”

“You must never feel as though you can’t talk about Katy, to me or to the children,” said Thranduil. “She has to be here, with us.”

“Same goes for you and Anna,” said Bard. “Always.” He chuckled softly. “Well, that’s one of the things I thought we needed to talk about. That was easy enough.”

“Do you want to try for one of the others?” asked Thranduil. “Since we’re doing quite well so far.”

Bard grinned, stopped walking, and pulled Thranduil close; the children had run on ahead into the woods, and were paying them absolutely no attention. 

“In a moment,” he said, tilting his head up to press a kiss to Thranduil’s mouth, soft and lingering. “Might as well celebrate the success of the first one, first.”

“You won’t find me complaining,” said Thranduil, slipping his fingers into Bard’s hair, sifting it through his hands, it was thick and soft and warm and he didn’t want to let it go; didn’t want to let Bard go, not at all.

“Me either,” said Bard, but eventually he pulled away, rather reluctantly, and took Thranduil’s hand again, beginning to walk again. “I don’t know how often I’ll be able to see you, that’s one of the other things. The job really does take up all my waking hours. And even then, I’m only barely making ends meet.”

Thranduil nodded. “I understand. And you must spend your free time with the children, of course. But - maybe you might all like to spend that free time here, sometimes? Then you can see the children, and I can see you, and perhaps help you a little, with them, and with winding down at the end of your day.”

“I’d like that,” said Bard. “But - this job isn’t a short-term thing. I’ll be doing it until I find something better, and I haven’t found anything better in two years. And that’s no basis to build a relationship on, snatched moments here and there.”

“You will find something else,” said Thranduil. “I’ll help you, in whatever way you need.”

“You can’t magic funding for museums out of the air,” said Bard. “Well, you probably could, but I’m not asking you to do that. You barely know me.”

“I will know you, given a little time,” said Thranduil. “And - it’s probably not appropriate for me to use my money to find you a job, or not yet at least. But I promise you, I have very little use for most of it.”

“I can’t take your money,” said Bard. “That way lies trouble, and - and resentment, and - I’ve no way of paying you back. I can’t live with that on my conscience.”

“Then we will find another way,” said Thranduil. “Something that allows us to be equal partners. Can we agree that I would like to help you improve your current situation, and that of the children, and you would like to help me improve mine, and that of my children? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Legolas and Tauriel as happy as they have been these past two days. And this house, these gardens, they should be filled with children’s voices, the sound of running feet, of laughter. They weren’t meant to be as cold and empty as they are most of the time.”

Bard was silent a long moment, considering. “I think that’s a good place to start,” he said eventually. “I can’t be your charity case, forgive me for saying it, and I won’t have that for the kids, either.”

“You will not be, I promise you,” said Thranduil urgently. “Even if I were to somehow pay your way in the world, you would still be giving me back far more of value. My life has been empty for so long, and to have you and the children in it would be worth more to me than any sum of money. I know money is traditionally a difficult subject, but for me, using some of mine to help you so that you don’t need to spend your every waking hour working - it would be finding a much better use for it than sitting in a bank account, accruing interest and doing no good whatsoever.”

Bard shook his head. “I can’t - I can’t get my head round thinking that way,” he said. “Not at the moment. But - I don’t know, let me get used to you, used to this. Let me get to know you better. At the moment I’m just some delivery driver you’ve met and had a really nice Christmas with.” He held up his hand as Thranduil opened his mouth to protest. “No, let me finish. Objectively, that’s how it is. I know what I want this to be, and I think I know what you want it to be, what we want to be to each other, but we’re not there yet. And I think it’s important that we don’t lose sight of that. It’s easy to get caught up in - in all this, but we have to be careful. I won’t have the kids hurt again, and -“ he broke off for a moment, “and I can’t screw this up. I can’t open myself up again only for it all to go wrong. I’ve had enough hurt to last me a lifetime.”

Thranduil drew in a long breath and let it out again. “You’re right,” he said. “Of course you’re right. I am thoroughly caught up and I’m not thinking clearly. Of course we need to be careful. I would hate to do something rash and stupid now and mess up something that is - that means more to me than I know how to tell you.” He stopped walking, turning to face Bard and putting his hands on his shoulders. “If I do anything or say anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, you must tell me. I can’t pretend to understand the pressure you’re under, and I’m probably going to say some insensitive things, or make inappropriate suggestions, things that couldn’t possibly work. Completely impractical things, like ‘drop everything and move your family in here with me’. I know you can’t. I know it’s far more complicated than that. But I want to work through all the complications with you. I want to get us to a point where one day, perhaps, it’s no longer too soon to ask you to come and live here.”

Bard blinked, and shook his head, and smiled. “I can’t tell you how much I want to say yes, let’s just do that, let’s pack up the kids and bring them here. But I can’t do that to them, and you know I can’t. Not yet. Not for a long while, probably. Not until I’m sure - until we’re both sure.”

“I know,” said Thranduil. “And I promise I won’t ask you. Not until you’re ready, all of you. All of this is far too important to me to make a mistake now.” He rested his forehead against Bard’s for a moment. “We’ll take things slowly. All of it. Nothing before we’re ready.”

“Okay,” said Bard, drawing in a deep breath and letting it out in a sigh. “That sounds good. I can work with that.” He smiled. “Now, give me a kiss and let’s go and find out where the kids have got to. I should think Tilda’s probably pressed Legolas into service pushing her on the swing.”

“I don’t think he’ll mind one bit,” said Thranduil. “He always liked having a little sister, in Tauriel, and having an even smaller one will be great fun for him.”

“As long as she doesn’t do his head in,” said Bard. “She can be a bit intense.”

“They’ll be fine,” said Thranduil. “Now, I believe you promised me a kiss?”

“So I did,” said Bard, and he tilted his head, brushing his lips against Thranduil’s, almost chastely at first but then a little more firmly, opening for him, and Thranduil slipped his tongue against Bard’s and shivered, a tiny, delighted sound escaping him as he did so. He really couldn’t believe his luck, that this beautiful, kind, compassionate man had more or less fallen into his lap, and he was determined not to screw any of it up. They would have to be careful, Bard was right, they would have to take things slowly, and work out all the complications on the way, but he thought that as long as they kept talking to each other, they had a fighting chance at making it work, and work beautifully. 

After a little while they eased apart and continued walking along the path beneath the trees, the children’s excited shouts floating back to them from the woodland ahead. They would have to part today, but they would see each other again before too long, and in the meantime they could keep in touch by text and by phone. And they would encounter difficulties along the way, Thranduil knew, but he thought that he was safe to hope that in the long run, all would be well. Once the fever of this wonderful, fairytale Christmas had faded, they would have a solid foundation between them, and the beginnings of a strong, long-lasting relationship. And this time next year…Thranduil thought he might dare to hope that by next Christmas, they would all be one family, living together in this house, and celebrating together as they had done for the first time this year. 

And in the meantime - they would have the most wonderful time getting there.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
_Somewhere, in a place that you or I will hopefully not get to see for a long, long time, two - well, let’s just call them angels, for ease of reference - clink two glasses together, and give each other a high five._

_“Mission well and truly accomplished,” says one, and “You can say that again,” says the other._

_“Now let’s just make sure they don’t stuff it all up,” says the first one, and the second one chuckles._

_“O ye of little faith. They’ll be fine. But let’s just keep an eye on them, just in case."_

_“Let’s do that. Just in case.”_

_And they clink their glasses together again, and all will most certainly be well, if they have anything to do with it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken a bit of a break from posting [My Heart Is An Empty Vessel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26197213) and [Break You But You'll Mend](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27419968) while I got this out of my system, but I'll be back to regularly scheduled posting there tomorrow!
> 
> Thank you for reading! If you're enjoying the story, do feel free to leave a comment and let me know - long or short or a single emoji, every single one absolutely makes my day. :)
> 
> I am [nocompromise-noregrets](https://nocompromise-noregrets.tumblr.com) over on Tumblr, by the way, so if any of you would like to come and find me there I would love to see you.


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